It seems innocent enough, my taking a seat on a stone wall near the middle of a long street made of cobblestones and tiles to rest my weary legs.
I’m not expecting any drama.
There is a man dressed in a parka sitting further down the wall, a box in front of him, on which appear to be little bottles of laundry detergent.
Across the walkway from him is a vendor selling potted flowers. If it rains, she has a shed to hide in but the laundry man will just get wet.
People walk by with their bags of goods filled mostly with farm fruits and vegetables, which are sold at nearly a third of the stalls in the market.
I see that the elderly prefer pulling folding shopping carts to carrying bags.
The flower vendor sits on the bench in front of me, periodically looking back over her shoulder in my direction.
I’m not sure why she’s doing that, but then I notice her turn her phone away and I figure she doesn’t want me to see what she’s looking at.
When she’s finished with her phone, she goes back to her flowers, sits on a stool, and lights up a cigarette.
A couple of young men walk by, one of which is talking animatedly to the other, who crunches up his lunch garbage and simple drops it on the sidewalk.
An elderly woman sees him do it and shakes her head in disappointment, and then a dog on a leash holds up his human for a second while he sniffs the garbage.
A movement at my feet catches my attention and I see a beetle as large as my big toe struggling along in the dirt.
A man strolls along, his arm linked with his girlfriend’s, whose blonde hair hangs down all the way to the backs of her knees.
I can’t imagine how much work it would be to wash it.
A kid, probably eleven or twelve, sits behind me to my left to eat something out of a bag.
I glance at him and he scowls at me, says something incomprehensible, and then waves me away.
Then he stands and urinates against the tree right beside me.
Suddenly there is a loud bang; the kid has stamped his foot on an empty carton on the wall ledge behind me.
Startled, I look back and the boy laughs, then starts talking loudly at me, but I don’t understand until he puts his hand out.
I shake my head, no, no money.
He stops smiling, gets serious, balls a hand into a fist and puts his other hand behind his back, as if to reach for something.
Thinking he might be going for a weapon, I stand quickly to face him, which causes him to leap back like a mongoose from a cobra.
Then he laughs, balls up both fists, feigns several attacks, one step forward, one step back, taunting.
I stare at him in bewilderment, this kid with dark skin and piercing blue eyes, with the kind of good looks developing that will break the hearts of many women in the future, if he lives long enough to meet them.
I decide to take the long-ago advice of my father – Walk Away From Crazy.
I back away from his feints and his taunts and head into the market crowd, checking from time to time to make sure he isn’t following.
I fear for this kid, and suspect that his future will unfortunately mostly consist of causing other people suffering.
