It was a hot summer day in the market. I have come for your dreams, the man shouted suddenly. The man had appeared out of nowhere. He was wearing tattered clothes from a bygone era. He looked as if he stepped straight out of someone's dream. No one paid him much attention. Dreams were too precious to be peddled to someone like him. I will pay you good money for your dreams, the man shouted again. Some laughed as if it was a joke. Some looked at him pitifully. Some shied away from him. An old man approached him. He shooed the old man away saying that he had no time for old-age dreams. He wanted fresh dreams. He wanted salacious dreams. He wanted ambitious dreams. He wanted revolutionary dreams. But, all those who had such dreams were far away chasing their dreams. Dreams, the man shouted again.
Looks like the fog just spared my window to the street. The street lights looked liking smokers in an alley. The cobble stones were wet from the drizzle. The street dogs were busy barking at something. A breeze just unsettled the garbage can's lid. My world hasn't changed much. Everyday I look for some sign of change. Nothing seems to change. I have grown bald. My eyesight has dimmed. My kids have grown. The window pane has gathered dust and dirt. The spiders have evolved. Some old buildings have given way to new ones. The neon signs have gone. Still nothing seem to have changed. Change they say has to come from within. But then, what can come out of an empty narrow dead end?
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