The Houston heat hit Makun the moment he stepped out of the sedan, he stood on the hot pavement, and for a moment, he felt the air press against him like a hot, damp towel pressed against his face.
It was a different kind of hot than the air he'd left behind in Naija City. Back in Naija City, the humidity felt "alive", salt-crusted and smelling of decaying seaweed and open water, always moving with a restless Gulf breeze. Naija City was a pier city.
Houston's air however, was stationary. It was a heavy, industrial warmth that tasted of asphalt and exhaust, smelling of the millions of engines idling in the distance.
He shielded his eyes against the glare.
In Naija City, the horizon was a flat, shimmering line where the gray-blue water met the sky.
Here, the horizon was jagged and vertical. The skyscrapers of the Energy Corridor and Downtown rose up like glass-and-steel titans, reflecting the harsh Texas sun so brightly it made his eyes ache.
