kimchi soup for the soul

and in it i taste all the streets of the city; the grittiness of sidewalks, market stalls, stacks of steaming bowls fresh from the dishwasher, that last cold sip of tea, paper packets of pepper, smoke and oil and spice. and it's not delicious, exactly, but warm, real, so real that it can't be categorized or ignored. in this strikingly orange and red soup lies the sunset and the sunrise, each spoonful as constant as all things are in space.