It pierced my ears. The sharp sound of the siren of the passing ambulance continued to ring in them even moments later. Dazed and claustrophobic, I hustled myself through the ocean of equally frustrated people until I emerged through a slight clearing near a kiosk displaying jewellery.
From handwoven bracelets, beaded and fashionable rubber bands to chunky necklaces, gold bangles and dangly earrings — they seemed to have it all. The lovely merchandise was evidently acknowledged when women, already heavily adorned, clustered around the tiny stall. For such posh-looking ladies, they definitely spoke in an exceedingly crude manner, yelling and bargaining at the peak of their voices. I was being nudged around like a rag-doll when I concluded to slip away swiftly.
Allowing my eyes to dart back and forth in search of the superhero that would get me out of this flood of people, I steered myself wearily through the crowd. Old town apartments stood to one side with three cracked steps to climb. Perched upon the shabby-looking stairs were equally shabby-looking people. Sleazy grins masked their faces and faded, dirty clothes clung to their bodies. They shamelessly ogled at a young lady who strutted right past them obviously oblivious to their stares. Tailing her was a white Westie, trying its best to keep up with its owner.
Business men in suits and ties chattered and swore away on their cellular devices. Children had their fingers interlocked with their parents’, so as not to get lost. Gusts of wind blew as young skateboarders inconsiderately whizzed by and almost ran over people.
A fun-filled day in the market turned out to be completely different and the few pennies that I had to spare remained untouched.
I slouched and leaned against the wall in agony when I felt a warm, caressing hand place itself on me. I looked up to find no one, but my mother — my superhero — who had clearly done all the shopping for me.