Night market in my head


Damn … sixteen before midnight.

The word “hate” is strong, so let’s just say this is not my favourite time of the day. I am tired … and my eyelids are about to give in. But inside my head there’s still a stirring of things that can be done, things that need to be done, things that will be fun and interesting to do.

In my mind’s eye, I see a bazaar, or a night market in Taiwan. You hear hundreds of people, food thrown on hot plates, sausages and pancakes and fried chicken and samosas being prepared for people waiting hungrily at plastic tables. You know it’s there, but you are not.

That’s how it is, for me, late at night.