Late afternoon by Bourda, the market was closed but the pavement was busy. One can never get accustomed to the odour around the market – like sewage mixed with hopelessness and suffering, enough to make one barf. But it is in that market and its environs that dreams are fulfilled for many hardworking people.
On one section of the pavement men were gathered. It was like a meeting of the forgotten or unworthy. All of them were dirty and reeking, some were half naked and I wondered if they were all homeless or some had a place to creep into at nights.
The darkness was quickly blanketing Regent Street. Stores were closing or closed and men who for sure were homeless were getting their mattresses and cardboards to make their beds on the pavement. I wondered if they prayed before they sleep at nights that heavy rainfall would not flood their dreams. I wondered about the choices they made that resulted in their homelessness. I wondered how one could continue living being homeless with no hope or expectations of what the next day would bring.
