Around seven o'clock she positions her stick on her back with a touch of kajal, wears her cleanest dress and heads off to work. She marches 10 blocks from her home with her quick little feet because no rickshaw's going to take her down. She cannot afford it either. By the main entrance of the largest tourist sight in the region, she enters at nine o'clock. Her inflatable Doraemons and Mickey Mouses float over her like her guardian angel.

With 50 bucks, she starts. She struggles behind them and decides on 20 when the person begins to walk away. The little ones are always her biggest fan in the embrace of their mother and their father's heads. Lifting up to her their tiny hands, glittering eyes just as large as balloons. Families oblige the kid to one out of ten occasions. They often tell their kids the word "later" and take them away. She sees them go.Her eyes are sometimes rebelled, teary, sometimes disturbed. Her heart breaks and lets joy fall down on her face like dry leaves. She wishes she could give away all her fare to every kid that comes to her, for free. But she knows she can't.

Often security comes out barging. Sometimes with their weapons, they fire her away with the other hawkers. Through their hands often. Often. Their hands land on her bare skin in ways that sicks her stomach. She still feels like pulling out the razor from her pocket and cutting off her hand. She does not ask, though. She puts on her best grin then and makes sure that she never leaves her side.

The wealthy men and women are in their big cars, coming and going. She can't read large cars with English names. They've got porcelain-like fur, and the clothes they wear look like custom-made in the clouds. She stands fascinated, trying to understand how this might be. With two arms, two hands, and a heart that beats, she was born, too. Four times as intensely as ever she works. This couldn't seem to understood by her illiterate spirit. She haggles, asks them to buy her balloons for them. They brush her aside, moaning about the sun, without giving a second glance.

When the crowd retired to their large cars late in the night, cleaned off the makeup and slept, she heads home. Since staying on her feet all day long and counting her money, she heads ten kilometers towards the slum in which she resides. She now has 1050, the rest of her balloons sold off. Five hundred additional, she might repair her jhopri's leaking rock, make something good for her sick mother, and give her little brother, the blue shirt he'd asked to wear this week on his 7th birthday.