Where potato sellers dream of wealth, or just a softer mattress. Where sleepwalkers sell crates of vegetables to night people. That's where I sit sleeplessly in front of my 50 grams of Black Balzam drink, in a nameless night café, with a hundred scallions on my table. And I become one more shadow within this parallel society. Maybe I just discovered the most wonderful place in Riga.
To be a salesman in Riga's central market once in my life, even if only for a minute...
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