THE MARKET

• Notes

  I’m keeping this little story intro around because I’m in love with the rhythm and heavy description. I can feel the story but I haven't given Adi the time he deserves to truly come to life!

  RJ

The market like a fishing net. The market at the surface. The market arching from a crane. The people like flapping fish. Squirming, slipping, sliding over and over and under and over. Opening their mouths for air.

The sky like an empty stove. Red hot and ready to burst.

The sky like an alert. The sky needs a pan.

Some air and then sand between your teeth. Some breeze and then the smell of freshly baked bread. Some wind and then the cumin. Some gust and then the spice.

Between the hollers of the traders and the bargain hunting crowd, there in the horrible discord stood Adi.

Adi stood in that horrible discord and Adi was silent.

His first day behind the stall. His third day after his father died. The fourth day his family was hungry.

And he had no idea what he was doing.

A table of tools with carved wooden handles. No idea. This one here with the three spikes. No idea. The ones his father painted yellow. No idea. Red. No idea. Yellow. Red.

"Two hundred Rupees for the crosshead." Adi picked it up and said, "This says four."

"I'll give you three.”

“Deal.”

Adi wondered if it was a deal. Was it a deal? He guessed it was a deal.

“Five for this,” said an older lady who had been eaten by her hat and was holding up a bag of nails.

“These are good nails,” tried Adi, “The best. I won’t take less than-“

The woman was gone. Swallowed up in the market. Money on the table.

Some noise this early in the morning. Some shouts against his thinking. Some harmony, some melody, too many boats in too small a harbour.