It was Sunday, after lunch, and me and Ma were sitting in the gallery waiting for Pyzan. Ma sat in an iron chair beside the front door. Every now and then, she hawked and I leaned back and she spat clean over the front rail. We weren't the only ones waiting. Neighbours were peeping through windows and doors. No one wanted to miss Pyzan. Someone shouted and I looked toward the junction and saw him in front of the gas station, drifting sideways and gesturing rudely. We still had a long wait.