Karachi doesn't whisper; it screams at you through a megaphone wrapped in diesel smoke and burning garbage. You already know the drill if you’ve spent more than a week dodging potholes on Shahrah-e-Faisal while some guy on a 125cc motorcycle tries to shave your side mirror off. By Friday night, you

Karachi will chew you up and spit you out while you’re still trying to figure out which generator is making that unholy rattling noise next door. You know the drill. The 40-degree heat sitting heavy on your chest like a wet wool blanket, the air thick enough to chew, and traffic on Shahrah-e-Faisal