English Version: Sands & Sparrow

6

Above the cloudless sky, moonlight gracefully bathed the city's shimmering lights. In the far distance, thousands of lights turned the dense mass of skyscrapers into a glittering splendor. People resembled needle points, and cars moved like blood cells flowing through the city's veins.

The air around the coffee shop was thick, and a whiff of roasted beans gave a distinct scent that gradually set the mood. The smooth, brown milk created harmony with the cup. Its lustrous texture was topped with chocolate crumbles invoked by the coffee beans outside the mug, begging to be crushed. The vibrant aroma seemed to have extricated itself from the thick, creamy coating over the surface, penetrating a deeply relaxing scent.

Margo wrapped her fingers around the cup, enjoying the heat that spread through her hands. She winced at her coffee, and the first milky sip creeping over her taste buds and down her throat felt like heaven. Margo glanced outside the glass window and watched the people. She rested her hand under her chin, leaning her elbow on the table. The stars glinted from the sky as she gazed at her reflection in the glass panel. She could see herself wearing a black baseball cap, a white shirt with a dark jacket, and fitted blue pants. She sighed again, only to see those green eyes staring back at her. She turned her attention to reading Ernest Hemingway's book: "The world is a beautiful place and worth fighting for, and I hate very much to leave it."

The words brought a gentle smile to Margo's face, the book serving as a fleeting solace, telling that it was acceptable to endure the weight of eternity. To an outsider, immortality might seem like a coveted gift, an unparalleled treasure, or even a power worth any sacrifice. Yet, for Margo, the reality of immortality was far from bliss—it was an enduring curse.

The city stirred back to life. The presence of sex workers reclaimed the streets, their clothes leaving little to the imagination as they navigated the pavement in high heels. The air carried the cheap perfume they wore, and their voices projected a feigned cheerfulness into the night.

Suddenly, a disturbance erupted near the coffee shop. Harsh and angry voices resonated through the street. Two men engaged in a heated argument—a pimp, sturdy and imposing, confronted a frail-bodied vendor. It was a clash of words echoing like the howls of savage dogs vying for dominance.

Margo inhaled a sharp breath and gently shook her head with a hint of annoyance. The noise bothered her from reading the book. She looked outside, squinting to survey the scene, only to see a frail man holding a basket full of white pigeons. Margo drew in a long breath, folding her arms across her chest. She closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead in annoyance. The noise had already ruined the beauty of the evening she enjoyed a while ago. Margo gathered her things, put them inside her bag, and left the coffee shop.

The moment she stepped outside, a cool summer breeze embraced her. The bustling crowd and the lights from the passing cars made the city hum. As she walked along the street, she could hear the heated dispute. They were arguing in front of the parking lot.

People who passed by ignored them.

Margo heard their voices, and her footsteps were getting nearer.

The towering man loomed over the vendor, using his height as intimidation. He seized the vendor's shirt, pulling him close to growl in his face, "What the hell is your problem?!"

"You worthless shit!" The vendor retaliated, his face contorted in rage, spittle flying with each word. The pimp, fueled by anger, tightened his grip on the shirt, drawing even closer to the vendor's face. In response, the seller clutched the basket, desperately preventing the pigeons from escaping during the frantic dispute.

As the heated exchange intensified, the pulsating energy in the air became almost tangible. The pimp's defiant words cut through the silence like a blade, each syllable laden with gritty determination. He spat his retort with a sneer, "You don't get to tell me that!" His fearless actions, poking his finger into the vendor's forehead, tugging at the collar of his shirt, and echoing laughter, fueled the escalating confrontation.