Jeffrey has been in the market for hours.
There’s fresh fish in his bag. That’s what he came for, until he’d seen a mob parading a thief. He’s been watching.
All this while, the thief has remained silent. Finally, someone says, “Say something!”
The thief mutters, “Allahu Akbah…”
Jeffrey stomach knots.
Jeffrey reels several feet into the air.
He lands on his back, watching his own lower limbs thrown apart. There’s blood everywhere. His.
He stares numbly for a long time, and he can’t brush aside the thought that he’d only come to buy fresh fish. Just fresh fish.