A while ago I spent a day in Nanjing. It was not planned. It did not go according to plan. Time misbehaved and light and dark collided. The tombs of revolutionaries, memorials and mausoleums were left unvisited. Green leaves distracted; shadows played furtively with themselves in the afternoon. I waited impatiently as passing buses never stopped, but instead continued rolling over twigs and grass and tarmac. The night came and I grew intoxicated on Confucian neon analects and yellow silk rickshaw operators languidly self-touting. A lost Russian. No cuisine of note. Sweet dreams.