As we are stuck in traffic on the freeway flyover 30 stories above the roads snaked with traffic, the smell of ocean and exhaust mingles with the human waste undergoing process in sewage tanks below. I choke on the emptiness of my stomach and stare outside; the sun glares into the bay as the city is left behind in a haze of burnt fuel and sunset hues and I slump further into the plastic seat and hold my breath.
