Blasts of indian music, hollers of chinese sellers all beckon the passerby towards the thieves market
where everything and anything is for sale.
Piles of goods haphazardly piled up or strewed on the floor not unlike a corpse of an animal
while we, the vultures disembowel the still warm corpse.
Whispers, shouts, yells, conversations all happen simultaneously
a hundred at a time, in a dozen different languages.
A item catch my eye, gleaming lustre showing through the grime.
I pick it up, twilling it through my fingers before enquiring about the price.
Yes? No? Maybe? I ponder as the seller squats, already forgetting about me.
I stand up, a hand reaching for my wallet as I make a purchase.
The seller looks up, a smile spreading on his sun beaten, aged face.
Another purchase, another day at the thieves market.
No comments:
Post a Comment