Alexander Faraday

Today he was on the tail of a fat German couple. In their loud tropical shirts, they didn't seem too remarkable at first glance. In fact, he thought they were just more Americans, like him. When he overheard them talking, though, that was corrected. Definitely German. It was strange, because usually Germans traveled with a little more dignity than this. Perhaps that's why he chose to follow them so deeply into the bazaar. He wanted to see what they would do next.

It was a bit of a disappointment when they spent the next fifteen minutes sifting through t-shirts. He felt like he was a kid forced to accompany his mom to the mall. Nothing was more boring than clothes. While they did this, Alex hung back and purchased a cone of peanuts. Munching on those, he seemed inconspicuous enough even as he lingered in the crowd and watched the German couple. Eventually, they shook their heads and moved on, no t-shirts in tow.

As they got deeper into the bazaar, Alex overheard another American. “How much are these?”

“Ten rupees.”

The American picked up a whole packet of postcards and asked excitedly, “All these for just ten rupees?” The Germans kept walking, but Alex paused. That was a smooth move by the American. Now the postcard merchant would have to 'disappoint' him.

“No, no. Sorry. Ten rupees each.” Alex saw exactly how this would play out.

The American hesitated, looking very disappointed. “Oh.” He flipped through the postcards, then shook his head. “It's too much. Five rupees.”

“No. Ten rupees each.”

The American shrugged and then walked away. It was like birds in a mating dance. Each step came naturally to the pair.

“Okay, okay! Eight rupees!”

The American paused, his back to the postcard merchant. After long consideration, he turned around, shaking his head. “Five rupees.” Both Alex and the merchant were surprised by this. He should have raised his price a little. He was being stubborn, which meant the merchant had to be, too.

“No, eight rupees.”

The American grabbed a pack of postcards and waved them in the merchant's face. “Look at these. They're cheap. Bad prints. Five rupees, no more.”

Several of the nearby merchants stopped to watch their argument. This was the perfect opportunity for Alex to snag a few trinkets without anybody noticing, but he was as caught up by the argument as everyone else.

The postcard merchant looked genuinely offended. “I no deal with you! You go away!”

The American could feel everyone's eyes on him, so he didn't relent. “I'm going to buy this one. Five rupees!” He reached for his wallet and pulled out a five rupee note, waving it in the merchant's face. The merchant just crossed his arms and glared at the American.

Alex should have been pocketing little bronze Buddhas at the moment, but without even really thinking, he marched over the postcard merchant. “How much for a postcard?” The merchant just glanced at him, then returned his glower to the other American. “Ten rupees, right? Here.” He handed the merchant a twenty rupee note, grabbed a faded postcard featuring the Himalayas, and then walked off, bumping his shoulder against the other American's.

Nobody followed him, but he heard conversation picking back up in that section of the bazaar. Situation defused. As he walked, he folded the postcard into a paper airplane. It was heavy, but the paper was stiff. When he threw it off the roadside, it soared for a full minute, gliding until he couldn't see it any longer. Who knew where it would land. He imagined it continuing for miles and miles across the Indian countryside, over the Indian sea, past the Pacific. Soaring across the American West, it finally plummeted out of the sky, falling into the lap of his friends. “Greetings from Snowy Himachal!” Soon, he'd be on his own airplane.