On Wall Street, there was a commodities bull. The man knew finance, but could be rather dull. He made the bacon, until he was shaken to find foreign pork belly dumped by the shipful.
There was an oblivious bull of Wall Street whose life was portfolios and spreadsheets. His approach, academic, missing news of pandemic, he bet cruise ship line stock would increase.
in the chiaroscuro world of the night market, fruity colors blare in orange, green, & yellow between angular shadows the sun is down; the city is alive, and soon the night market will be lively
There was a durian seller from K.L. asked to leave the market 'cause of the smell. "Buyers 'll find you with ease from the scent of bad cheese," said the contrite landlord in his farewell.
In 2002, I took a stroll in the marketplace and discovered I couldn’t get out. I was never lost, but neither could I escape the market. When I got home, I found that the market had spread into my home — into my very bedroom. Later, I realized that it had even dropped into my pocket, and I was carrying it with me everyplace I went. I caught a flight, thinking that — even if it caught up with me upon arrival — I’d have a few hours of precious freedom. No such luck. There, in the seat pocket.
I’ve resolved to die in the marketplace, a consumed consumer. At least the flowers will be near at hand.