Marigolds for fifty, Bougainvillea hundred

First showers had fallen after months of torpid heat. It was 9 in the morning on a weekend. She was surrounded by a few drivers and early joggers, tea-sellers and fruit – hawkers. The kid cried, uncomprehending. “Saw it from my own eyes: these eyes”…She was running with a bag tightly clutched under her arms, shouting, “I have nothing on me. I have nothing on me”… The lanky gardener ducked behind flowers clinging to the handles of his wooden trolley.  Two men on a bike zipped through the wide-empty street. A pistol glinted for a moment, took shape and disappeared behind the shirt of the one riding pillion. “It was when he took out the pistol”… She ran and the kid was nowhere to be seen. “I have nothing on me” …“Since when did tulips begin to bloom in March?”… “It was when he took out the pistol”.

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