The Road

The Road

The street was baked and dusty. The sun burned. The dark skinned Indians stood or squatted along the sides of the dusty street or walked slowly – the women with the long ends of their patterned saris or one end of their brightly colored chunnis tossed over their heads as a form of shade. The street all smelled of long baked earth and spices of curry and sweat. The white, thin cows walked slowly like the people did and riffled through roadside trash piles with their black noses. The road was like a spit which turned the people on it slowly so that they would be roasted evenly on all sides, and the road was like a straw through which the sun slowly sucked all of the coolness and life out of the people of the earth, This was the road I walked on in the heat of the day, and the sunlight burned my eyes.



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