Oct 04, 2007 09:54
Ate breakfast at the nearby market today. Just in front of me, the duck stall had rows and rows of glistening, oily, looking succulent, murdered ducks hung up on display in the glass cabinet as a warning to all other ducks.
Except, there wasn't any other ducks walking around.
People. All the people around. Armed with basic resources of two hands to manage inventory and to do asset transfers; bags to increase and to compartmentalize the storage; pieces of metal, a medium of exchange, the missing link in barter trade - value.
What probably caught my eye was the rows of ducks. How the duck did those, well, ducks get there?
Someone must have hung it there.
Someone must have roasted it too. Was it there in the stall?
Or was it elsewhere and delivered?
Early early morning then?
Why was there so many ducks there? Why not less? Why not more?
What happens to those ducks at the end of the day?
What exactly is the duck stall owner selling?
It ain't ducks. Ducks. Ain't no. Ducks. Shuddap. Ducks. Hell, no. It's his forecasting ability, skill with knifing ducks and Ducks his time. I heard you said ducks. Knifing ducks. All the same. Ducks ducks ducks. PPPPPPPPPPBbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbtt
What am I selling then?
Ducks