Sunday midday and I cannot postpone some errands any longer if I’m to get everything ready before my hospitalization next 30th to get my knee surgery. The weather is as somber as my mood; cold and cloudy; winter bulling the gentle fall. I pick my electric scooter because who knows when I’ll be able to ride it again and head for the street market some 3km from my place. It’s been ages since I last came and I don’t particularly like this market. I start walking and I don’t like anything I see. The clothes stalls where you can buy cheap jogging pants, underwear, socks, babygear, etc are the first ones. I came for these ones, but nothing seems convincing. I’m not tempted nor curious. I meet some dear friends and we chat a little. Though I played fairy god mother for my friend’s daughter yesterday and I’m really happy for her I can’t connect; I’ve been captured by an uncertain future that numbs me. We say bye and I’m not sure if they bought my performance. I keep on walking. Flowerpots, canned goods, oil bottles. Cheeses, jams, nuts. The fishmonger. My mom calls, she needs parsley. I stop at the first stall where I see some of it. There’s a crowd waiting to be catered for, so I wait and watch. From my capsule I observe. Potatoes, onions, carrots, zucchinis. Eggplants, red peppers,yams. Eggs. Grapes, pears, oranges and bananas. Colours and textures. I’m fascinated and touched by the motions of people buying vegs and fruit. There’s a lavish quality to it. Here’s life bursting. I imagine this very same scene two thousand years ago exactly the same. I take a look at the stallholders. They’ ve been up and working since before dawn. Their worn out aspect pierces my soul. I wish I could tell them how much I admire them. How thankful I am for their existence. Their hands are rough and dry; with traces of dirt no water and soup can wash out. Those hands make me forget my almost constant regret for humanity. I buy the parsley and make my way back to my scooter. The sun’s shining and fall is all around with the gentle, comforting touch of a grandmother’s. Before I leave I take a look back. A snapshot of humanity that warms my heart for a while.