Sitting in the spotless white Mercedes taxi, the driver tells me, “Singapore has three seasons. Hot, Hotter and Hottest. This is the middle season.”
You could have fooled me.
I wander along the waterfront, then into the financial district. Imagine a place populated by the spawn of a captive breeding program mating tax accountants and structural engineers.
A torpid cloud hangs over us, storm clouds threatening downpours and belching thunder. I’m soaked before the rain finds me. As dusk fell, the approaching storm clouds began to spit lightning. I balanced the camera on a guard rail, went for a long exposure and hoped for the best.