The thin man took long steps in the sweltering heat, the sand’s harsh texture pushing against the soles of his feet where the grains flooded his hot, brown sandals. His light blue eyes shone under his thick, straw hat, the glow reflecting onto his dark skin in the small bubble he used to hide from the bitter winds. He could only see different kinds of feet bouncing or dragging on the small mounds of orange sand, maybe the occasional torso of an infant who’s arm was being tightly held to by the mother, cloth wrapped around her shoulder draped.

The man liked looking around his environments. He raised his head slightly, before shielding his eyes with his wet fingers and pulling his hat back down. At last he saw a familiar pair of rotten feet, in sandals covered with jewels, but still way too small. Looking up, he saw sandy red pantaloons grabbing onto the sweat of legs; a dark beige shirt tucked into them that, in a different place, could’ve been white. The old man met eyes with the thin man, his stubby fingers touching on his large, dark moustache. Without the blue eyed man taking the straw hat off, he couldn’t do business. After doing so, the thin man angrily thrust his finger into the man’s tinted shirt.

“You have beans?”

The old man looked at him peculiarly, before turning and directing him to his small stall. The men immediately saw two children stuffing as many items as possible into cloths. They each wore goggles that looked expensive, though kept their focus to the baskets on the ground, picking up handfuls of red beans. The old man gestured at them, as the two children looked up in fright.

“Let’s go, Smally!”

A gust of sand blew into the face of the two men, making it hard to see what was going on. By the time the stall became clearer, the old man informed that the two children struggled away, disappearing over the sand dunes.

“In other words, ‘have no beans.”