Food binds us all. It doesn’t matter what comes between us, food will bring us together. The Night Market is testament to that. It’s why now is such a great time to do business - everyone’s here.
You’d think that’d slow some transactions, but the cover of activity, money changing hands, bags being passed back and forth, the sheer volume compressed within this space makes it hard for even the most astute ObServrs to maintain their vigilance.
They’re said to have been paired with some ability to smell - to sniff out everything that’s going on. But I doubt it. The cacophony that is the Night Market has a scent all its own. It’s something that overpowers the senses, even those that are enhanced.
Humans were said to have eight senses before. To have so few seems daunting, almost sad for what you wouldn’t experience going through the Night Market. To not experience each individual item available as it went through an assortment of processes before it becomes what’s considered food would be maddening. The pleasures of watching molecules interact, to feeling their change in states, to truly understand what it is we are is half the fun of working here.
It’s also how I know my target will be here. This place is just too enticing to avoid. People gather here not just for the food but the collective sense of belonging even if they don’t know their neighbor. For me, that anonymity is a good thing. It makes my work easier by half.
I slip between the carts and past patrons guzzling cold beer and hot noodles and find my way to the stall I know my target frequents. They’re there, of course they are. Such a creature of routine. As I step up beside them it takes just a flick of my knife and the job is done.
I order today’s special, as my target makes their way to an open stool. Their feet already dragging and their drink ready to spill. They’ll get their last meal, and I’ll get mine.
Everyone’s got to eat.
Today’s art is courtesy of Nivanh Chanthara from Montreal, Canada.