There is a place with a fresh running stream where you once could wash away infertility. Women used to go there, bathe, sit amongst the trees, and think. When they returned to their people, they would be ready to conceive. This place is under the belly of the city, now. For several nights running, a modern-day woman dreamed of this place, of going under the mud and staying there, healing. It was around this time her daughter came to her, unexpectedly.
On the dirty streets under a bridge, two cats sat; thin, stunted. One was mature, the other a baby still. Their fur was the thinnest and coarsest ever seen on a cat. Longing to connect with someone, anyone, a backpacker made her first and only Malaysian purchase of flesh- a meat pie- for the cats. When she brought it to them, they scattered, suspicious, in the way of cats who have lived by their wits, eating the giant cockroaches, hapless rodents and mounds of garbage that make up this world-class city.