In the meanwhile, a little amount of unhappy and maybe violent people awaits in the shadows of the darken arab market. They were all kinds of persian and indian individuals upon whom the weight of society had stamped not just an impossible to erase mark, but also a complete emptiness inside their hearts and souls. It was bad, ugly, disgusting. None the less they could survive among others, common people maybe, just thanks to their operative spicy food wealthiness. Indeed enough, these asians, though not chinese, would like tasty and unique bites to themselves.
Looking through the corridor at the end a book burnt to ashes near to the kitchen. And out the window nothing but that fry smell. What were girls there cleaning, thinking? Didn’t we know, like us were, no building around any longer had a touch of serenity like ours? Were we to accept the silence, and that’s all? If indians and persians had no anonymity at all, that one of us wasn’t resting significance to our words? What they wanted were facts. Not just facts, but money. What a complete and false illusion in front their eyes. Fortunately, most of them were blind.
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