Visit the market.

One of your favourite pastimes is to visit the markets. The smells. The sights. The sounds. There is always something wondrous and unexpected to experience.

You head off through the winding narrow hemmed streets and alleys, rubbing shoulders with all manner of exotic or dirty or rich or poor peoples, your feet leading you wherever they will.

You come to a market of tents illumed by the moon and stars that you’ve not frequented before. A wigwam shop draws your attention, a conical and mismatched canopied bazaar where slim **** girls kneel in the dirt in expectant rows, dusky eyes downcast, naked flesh oiled and glistening alluringly in the night light.