the things we keep Pritika Rao a monkey slips his fingers into the leather bag strapped onto a black motorbike that belongs to a man who is taking photographs of the mountainside the culvert is sprayed with blood-red paan the graffiti of the poor the green shrubs have plastic debris beneath them stacked like glistening Christmas presents a few ripe jackfruits hang from the trees while some weaklings have broken and split in the carpet of dried leaves a stray nail from the plank of wood digs into my thigh as I place my order with a middle aged lady in a patterned cotton nightie we receive two cups of coffee that taste like diluted jaggery and a plate of pillowy idlis drowning in sambar we watch as a stray dog just escapes the raging wrath of a bleating van and barks defensively as it disappears around the bend the lady rushes to survey the commotion and we all collectively offer the dog our quiet support satisfied, he proceeds on his journey the monkey has gone the man returns to his bike he picks up a spectacle case and ratty keychain from the damp mud and rides off into the cool evening as we all re-settle into a state of calm, something catches the light in the distance the monkey tries on his new pair of neon sunglasses.
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