Foreword: This article is a story. A man from Britain and his friend go on a mission ordered by the government. They are in the midst of a busy market...
(based off of this photo)
(series may continue)
The Gypsy Market Mission
The noise was faint and muffled. Clouds of black smoke rose into the air. Rickshaws rattled past me, then as we walk closer, the sound level increased like someone was turning the volume up on their radio. Suddenly screaming and thousands of foreign voices invading my ears, like a google, translated party back at home. Mixed smells of burnt cotton candy and bitter curry attacked my nose. The frying sound of chicken was intense and there were infinite queues blocking every turn. This was the Bombay marketplace in India.
The floor was slippery and greasy, sludging my shiny shoes with mud and foreign objects. The choking feeling stabbed my throat and I struggled for breath. My mate Sam trotted closely behind me, scurrying quickly as he was a short man. Suddenly, searing heat blasted at my face. Fateh's Naans. A naan bread stall. We stopped by and ate lunch. The raw dough being kneaded in the man's hands, beaten to a smooth, slimy texture. He spins it like a frisbee top, like raw pizza dough, like an NBA player's basketball. The churning fiery furnace was made of dried dirt and cracks formed to reveal the charred crimson mud. The heat radiated over to me and I could feel the hand of the fire, resisting against my chest.
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Walking around in this shady market takes my mind off the delicious naan bread. Loitering around stalls, looking for good prices (not really though) and just having one of those swift post meal roams.
A bright red stall caught my eye and my body immediately proceed to walk in that direction. People squeezing past me, this area looks to be much busier. It's like a football match, except there is a diamond on the end of the field and everyone on each opposition is trying to get it. I contract my lungs and push through. Still, Sam follows close behind.
This store was the last one on the block, making it very visible, also thanks to it's tainted bright red tablecloth. The embellishments shone on the table like it was a jewellery store. Homemade silk scarves hung on behind the shopkeeper like scales on a snake. The smell of Indian curry smacked my face again. I scanned the stall and nothing caught my eye. These colours don’t look very shiny at all now. Dull and disgraceful. But, despite the disappointment, we have business to do here. I walk up to the man and he immediately recognises me and pulls out a box...
RETINAL SCAN...
BLOOD TEST...
FINGERPRINT...
As the Indian man verified the tests, his family were proactively advertising and not caring whatever was happening here. The tests were accurate. I got handed an old, scruffy homemade purse. Inside was my mission...
'should you choose to accept it...'
To Be Continued...
前言：这篇文章是一个故事。一名来自英国的男子和他的朋友继续执行政府命令。他们正处于繁忙的市场中......
（基于这张照片）
（系列可能继续）
The Gypsy Market Mission
噪音微弱而且低沉。黑烟云升腾空气。人力车从我身边嘎嘎作响，然后当我们走近时，声音水平增加，就像有人在收音机上调高音量一样。突然尖叫，成千上万的外国声音侵入我的耳朵，就像一个谷歌，在家里翻译的派对。烧焦的棉花糖和苦涩的咖喱混合气味袭击了我的鼻子。鸡肉的煎炸声非常强烈，每回合都有无限的排队。这是印度的孟买市场。
地板很滑，油腻，用泥土和异物砸碎我闪亮的鞋子。窒息的感觉刺伤了我的喉咙，我挣扎着呼吸。我的队友Sam紧紧跟在我后面，因为他是一个矮个子男人而迅速匆匆忙忙。突然，灼热的热量在我的脸上爆炸了。法塔赫的Naans。一个na面包摊位。我们停下来吃午饭。将生面团揉在男人的手中，打成光滑，粘滑的质地。他把它像飞盘一样旋转，就像生的披萨面团一样，就像一个NBA球员的篮球。搅拌的火炉由干燥的污垢和裂缝组成，露出烧焦的深红色泥浆。热量散发到我身上，我能感受到火焰的手，抵挡着我的胸膛。
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在这个阴凉的市场中走来走去，让我的脑海中摆脱了美味的na面包。闲逛在摊位附近，寻找好价格（不是真的），只是有一个快速的餐后漫游。
一个明亮的红色小摊引起了我的注意，我的身体立即向那个方向走去。人们挤过我，这个区域看起来更加繁忙。这就像一场足球比赛，除了球场末端有一颗钻石，每个对手的每个人都试图得到它。我收缩肺部并推进。 Sam仍紧随其后。
这家商店是街区的最后一家，非常明显，这也归功于它的深红色桌布。装饰品就像一家珠宝店一样闪耀在桌子上。店主后面挂着自制的真丝围巾，就像蛇上的鳞片一样。印度咖喱的味道再次打击了我的脸。我扫描了摊位，没有什么引起我的注意。这些颜色现在看起来都不是很闪亮。沉闷和可耻。但是，尽管令人失望，我们仍然有业务要做。我走到那个男人身边，他立刻认出了我，掏出一个盒子......
视网膜扫描......
血液测试......
指纹...
当印度男子验证测试结果时，他的家人主动做广告而不关心这里发生的事情。测试准确无误。我收到了一个旧的，邋自的自制钱包。里面是我的使命......
“你应该选择接受吗......”
未完待续...
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