THE salty breeze kisses my skin in the golden glow of the afternoon.
The air feels light, and my worries are cosmopolitan. I’ve left the dystopian city behind me, where even highways are littered with craters (I mean potholes).
Washed in a sheet of red dust, the roads are a reminder of a bygone era when traffic lights were still repaired and not replaced with pointsman.
As the sun dances towards the horizon, a magnetic golden hue sweeps across the sky, - painting it masterfully in shades of wonder. Even apocalyptic Joburg blushes.
