I was admiring the red bunches of flowers that have sprung overnight like a deftly shuffled pack of cards into an arc by a cardsharp,on Gulmohar trees lining the street and picking my way through delectable looking neem friuts littering the road in their transparent yellow peels, disguising the bitterness they held within ,when my early morning rambling ,accosted only by a steady stream of ragpickers, on morning duty,and by stray walkers , was disturbed by the loud and angry voice of a man giving a dressing down to a younger , on the matter of loading rubbish from the pavement on to a mini lorry.
As I passed them ,his voice had risen higher and I could clearly hear his furious threats ,that if the younger man refused to budge he would remove his chappals and beat him!
His fury arrested my attention so , that I stopped to take a look .Now what do I see?
The man bellowing in rage was barefooted!
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