Thrushes, the capital city, early morning.
The thick white morning mist crawls along the outer river, with mists rising over the bridge and making the newly painted handrails shine as dockworkers' greasy fingers just reach for their pocket watches, six chimes leisurely roll from the old town's clock tower above.
"Dong... Dong... Dong... Dong... Dong... Dong"
The heavy sound of the iron bell spreads out, waking up the entire city from its slumber, and with the first ray of sunlight breaking through the morning fog, the whistle of public carriage lines, newsboys shouting headlines, selling newspapers along the streets all break out from the mist, clearly flowing into the ears of pedestrians.
It's been so long since I've seen the morning in the capital city...
