A Busy Street.

A Busy Street. 

A Busy Street.

The small street just two blocks away from my house is one of the busiest streets in the city. To be in it just once is to know the meaning of the word "busy". 

I happened to be in it a few days before the New Year. On both sides of the street were hawkers with all sorts of goods displayed openly for people to come and buy. The five-meter sidewalks were not big enough, so the hawkers and their customers actually spilled into the narrow street itself making it a hazardous place for drivers and motorcyclists. Every few seconds a horn sounded as the vehicles crawled cautiouslyamong the throng. 

There were so many people there that if I had not been with my father I would probably have got lost. My father knew his way around. So I held on tightly to his hand as he led me through the crowd. A number of times I nearly knocked into someone, or rather, someone nearly knocked into me. Everyone seemed to be in a rush and nobody seemed to care whether they trampled on others. 

We were there to buy some cakes for the New Year. At the shop we had to wait a long time before we could pay for what we wanted. The shop was packed with other shoppers. 

After our purchase, we made our way carefully out of the street. Once outside, the air felt so much fresher. Though we had to walk some distance to our car, it was so much more pleasant than walking among the crowd of frenzied shoppers along the busy street.