The nursing babes are sick from the heatand the dark dioxide settles forcefullyin our lungs. A man puffs an Intore, disgusted,three women sit on the dirtlegs bare and hair uncombed.The street children dream of being rascals, yetthey’re too afraid to steal;the barefoot one especially. The newspaper man knows the coloursthat adorn the headlines in his stack and smiles every timehe hands the wrong one. A child gets slapped,a birds feather’s harshly plucked behind the curtains of an empty cafe. Chinamen send dozens of colourful gadgetsthat pack the shops, which in turn pack each other, side, top, bottom;many men yell and my attention splitsinto capillary thoughts. Buses come in bringing moreand more as I grow dull.