I get disoriented near that crowded place. Where many gather in the evening. Maybe it is the flower shop outside. The smell of its jasmines fill my nose. You can’t track anything through smells of jasmine. Not even the meat shop down the road.

People leave their footwear outside that place. Once inside, you see very many have drooping shoulders. Rarely, someone will come who would be happy enough to wag their tails, if they had one. But they don't come there every day. The ones who come everyday, their shoulders seem very heavy. Maybe its all the heavy thoughts in their heads.

I can see the thoughts of men when they are inside this place. A dog knows that they need a head in their lap to chase these thoughts away. These men can't see.

The man who smelled of chickens and dirt was here again. He was here everyday. Slumped against the wall. He didn't have any spare flesh on his frame. Unlike others, he didn't change color everyday. I had heard other little men describe him as drab. His mane was white, whiter than it was last time. When he left after ringing the bell, he was thinking about water.

He moved quickly once outside. He paused outside for a second, but decided to leave his footwear behind. He was going away from his house, towards the fields that they spent all day in. I followed him, for I didn't know anything else. His thoughts drew me along. The water he saw grew deeper, my stomach started curdling.

He reached the village well. He was on the ledge in a flash. His eyes only saw blue. It would be too late soon. I shouted NO!

I don't know what he heard, but he hesitated for a second. He no longer saw the depths. His eyes stated watering. His thoughts were elsewhere. He sat down on the ledge. He cried for an hour before he went home.

I never saw him at that place again. He found some other place to be at.

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