the ten o'clock clatter as every shop opens its metal rollup shutters at once. the music in this hostel that unfortunately gets louder and louder.
the flesh of oranges and grapefruits being torn in juice presses, vendors misting cucumbers in streetside carts.
fat dripping down rotating donair skewers, the meat cut in a downward wedge to let the fat drip down, the meat rotating on big swords and cut by men with bulging muscles.
buses that drive with the doors open.
the sizzle of fish grills by the waterfront.
midday sun aligning with the obelisk.
people that move through the sidewalks and streets like water flows over stones, tracing a course that will let them move past those who move slowly.
vendors tearing the husks from cobs of corn to be roasted in red carts like theatre popcorn machines.
restaurant greeters who will do what it takes to put a menu in your hands. "yes please! table here! just drinks! maybe tomorrow!"
late afternoon twitching fish in yoghourt buckets at the feet of fishermen on the bridge leading into old istanbul.
by night the circling birds lit up from underneath, the yellow lights that shine up the minarets, and the rustle of cats hunting in plastic garbage bags.
