Walking

I came to the street where the market was in a weekday afternoon. It was raining lightly and the sky was bright gray, where the sun struggled to shine through even a slightest crack in between the heavy clouds. Sweat dripped down my chin under the hot and stuffy weather as My black runner shoes stepped on the wet and uneven rocky ground, I navigated myself through the path.

The street was crowded with people trying to find the right ingredient for the next meal. It was not easy to advance forward or look backward. People stopped in front of a tent and that temporarily paused a flow. I walked slowly, following the unmarked line while trying to get a look of everything put on display.

Shops were setup under a small, dark green tent. However, the cubical space was packed with products: fresh flowers, different vegetables and fruits, dried seafood and meats, and many more.

The eye-catching red orange light bulbs shown on the racks gave life to the products on sales. Especially for the vegetables and fruits, they looked even better as the rain dropped on them and reflected the vibrant colors on them. The red of the apple became fuller, the green of the vegetables became richer, the purple of the eggplant became a darker version of the grapes resting besides them.

The market, too, was thrived with life.

The old folks either sat on their little crappy plastic chair, or on a worn bamboo made chair that stayed with them in many difficult times. They would each held a big yellow brown hand fan or sat under an electric fan and listen to the ambient noise in the background. The younger one, though, stood with their arms crossed, glancing at the passing by, and shouted what they had to offer occasionally to get the customer poking into their establishment.

There was also shops behind these tents, those are bigger, normal shop under the concrete building. Many were closed, only a handful was open.

There was a shop selling fresh seafood. Fish, clam, crab, oyster, anything that people would like to eat. Those separated small tanks of water housed every kind of seafood, the space was cramped, not comfortable at all. I could see there were several fishes turning to their sides or bellies, grasping for air while trying to find a spot to stay. The competition ended when they were dead, or sold.

The slowly stroll on this particular street made me think of scenes from movies, games and TV shows. There was a scent, a trace of that cinematic effect at the moment, at that time. I could feel it right there. I could have captured it, and I did, in my mind. Now I turned it into words.

The atmosphere, the crowd, the products, the tents, the weather, the light bulbs, the wet road, the crowded street, the flow, the vibe, the surroundings, the ambient noise, the position I was standing.