The smell of Jasmine wafting through the air as i try my

hardest not to step on loose flowers that escape their

owner's grasp. The huge plastic baskets and makeshift
baksets placed on a singular metallic plate as it's
foundation which was placed on a tiny broken stool
somehow defying all laws of physics. The old and rotting
flowers lay scattered on the floor at the mercy of
passersby and vehicles that trample a few unlucky ones.
The old paint at the market bearing a musty smell masked
by the fragrance of the flowers seem to have chipped of in
a few places unmasking the naked cement underneath. A
child of maybe 5 runs around unleashing chaos as the
poor fed up mother diverts her attention to more important
things, flower shopping. One aunty took pity at the clearly
attention seeking child and handed him some flowers to
pick apart. Petal after each petal the child grew irritable
and threw a tantrum in the midst of his mother's shopping
spree.