Poor stall owner, trying so hard to get my attention when I am buying from the stall owner next to you, Mr Interrupting Man, and I have to tell you firmly (after asking you nicely) to wait because I am busy with someone else at the moment. How can I finish at this stall when you are saying “Lady, Lady, Lady, Lady” the whole time? Poor guy, because now I can’t buy anything from you because I LOATHE you, because you have treated me like a breathing wallet, not a human being, I know you are desperate for my money because you think I will pay three times as much as the local ladies (but I won’t, the local ladies have gone out of their way to inform me of the correct price of EVERYthing, everywhere). You have forgotten I am your God’s child, too, so you are just a greedy hypocrite in my eyes now. Even though I know I should be more understanding. You probably have mouths to feed. Maybe you beat those mouths, you show no respect to me, you call me a whore because I have walked past your stall now, a whore dressed more conservatively than your grandmother, when I am in your country. You shit.
You see?
Losing my compassion makes me cry.
