Short fiction: A salesman who’s down on his luck takes it out on a young street urchin
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At last he found it – a small strip of space to park his scooter, squashed amidst a seemingly never-ending row of vehicles. Relief swept over him. This was a stroke of pure luck! Jealously guarding his discovery against other two-wheeler riders who might swoop down and snatch it from him like hungry hawks, he alighted and managed to wedge his scooter into the little clearing. Having thus accomplished this Herculean task (for it was indeed a triumph at such peak working hours), he let himself relax for a few moments, diligently wiped his face and pushed back his hair to appear presentable enough to transact his sales calls. He was supposed to look like one of those suave, dynamic sales executives that so many recruitment ads keep asking for.
Finally, he picked up his briefcase, swore at the sweltering heat and was just debating with himself about where to make the first of the three sales calls in that vicinity, when he felt somebody tugging at his trousers. He glanced downwards and recoiled at once. It was one of those tiny street urchins – who while they wash vehicles for a living never seem to wash themselves – trying to capture...