“ R e a dy ? ” Y e e H e n g Y e h
“Yes.” I close my eyes. When I open them again, the market is all around me. The cool scent of damp earth, the grey light extending its first fingertips through the dark, the vendors chattering quietly as they set up their stalls — this is morning. Just like I remember. But it isn’t complete. Not yet. A few more moments — here they come. The patrons. When was the last time I saw an actual crowd? I reach out to touch the shoulder of an old man hobbling by with a walking stick. Bony, but warm. I instinctively jerk my hand back. Such incredible detail that I’ve almost forgotten where I really am. I move with the crowd, allowing myself to be carried along like a leaf in a slow-moving stream. They say that it all started in a wet market like this one. Now none of this exists anymore. The small local businesses were the first to disappear. Shopkeepers, hawkers, roadside sellers. The ones who didn’t have the resources or the technological know-how to transition to an online model, unlike the bigger supermarket chains. And with only sporadic monetary aid from the authorities —well, that was no sustainable plan.
61
Made with FlippingBook - Online catalogs