So. Everything I want to say about the place, beyond the money, the new shiny cars, and the massive casinos. Old Macau. Of the raggled above-store appartments. The coffee shops with the undrinkable coffees. The constant haze of cigarette smokes. Dai-sam-ba. Old herbal tea. Short sleeve shirts.
I was watching the movie and all over the crystalisation of the real reason to go. The closeness and intimacy. The narrow streets. The press of people. And their slow, rough, and friendly talk.
Perhaps we saw the same things.
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