Good Company

the market, a maze of wooden posts secured together with reed ties and old shoelaces. the air is thick with the smell of deep-fried dough, rotting garbage, citrus and alcohol. women sit on mats and sell peanuts, dried fish, bananas, avocados, pumpkins, bread. their children cry or play nearby, returning every few minutes to drink from someone's breast or eat a tangerine. men linger in groups and drink colorless liquor from plastic pouches. some sell assorted silverware or american films, another sits behind an ancient sewing machine surrounded by scraps of fading fabric. 'amiga, amiga!', a woman setting tomatoes and garlic calls across a narrow, crowded path. i smile and call back, 'amanha!'.