Pique

Old Sikh wonky on his feet after a loud fall on the steel drain-cover here on Onan corner opposite the Fries. Recovered sufficiently to get himself going again, no harm done.

         Waited out his slow amble and not disappointed.

—    Very lucky man.

—    Thank you uncle, without raising the eyes and light wave of hand.

         Not breaking stride.

         — Ok, good luck to you.

         (But didn’t you say I was very lucky ready uncle, you old fraud?...)

         Venerable to the max. Late-seventies. Regular beard-trims (eschewing dye).

         Faberge blue turban was it? that the wife or daughter washed every couple days. White cotton dhoti and red long-sleeved for cool mornings.

         In this quarter fellow was a bit outta his range, probably shopping at the market.

         Readers whose curiosity has been piqued can refer to a posting from the second half of 2011, when the author was still a pup in the new tropical environment. Unused to shysters of this form. (July, titled “Holy Man,” —newly revised just now and telling a useful traveler’s tale.)