(street side. New Delhi, India)
It's sticky!
Everywhere you look there are putrid flies, scurrying about like crazed mice in a field of stinky cheese. They cover the floor and walk as opposed to fly. Their numbers are so great it does not matter to get away. They land all over your body getting at the beads of sweat that glisten in the sun like tasty cooking grease.The air is filled with the songs of horns, old engine and the beating of drums which provides the rhythm as kids perform for any kind of charity. Three wheeled rickshaws blow out plumes of exhaust as they squeal through the narrow streets crowded with people. Trash envelopes every corner of every ally or store front and immense cows and bulls roam the concrete fields in a sustained delirium like a frying hippie dancing through the open grass long after the show has ended.
An old over sunned man with skin the texture of a well worn leather belt walks hand in hand with a small albino child who's hair and skin shines as white as the meat of a fresh coconut. A unique pair indeed!
Rag tattered kids play and dance in the streets hoping to receive something for their efforts. Yet still, they smile. Give them five rupees, take their picture and their eyes light up like the stars. More gather round and although they do it for the money, for those few precious moments they express pure joy and bellow high pitches of laughter. The laughter is soon overwhelmed by the sounds of the overcrowded city.
Life goes on.
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