Chiang Mai fried my brain at 37.53 degrees

lowercase start because everything here feels like a half-remembered dream. i arrived carrying stick shift guilt from too many van rides and drumsticks rattling in my spine-yes, i’m the touring session drummer type, snare in one bag, delusions of rhythm in the other. the air doesn’t hug you here, it interrogates you at 37.53 celsius while pressure drops like a bad fill. feels like 37.47, which is math’s way of lying politely. humidity sits at 26 percent so your lips chap faster than opinions at a family reunion. i kept checking my watch, not for tempo, but to see if time itself was sweating.

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