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The morning sun had just started to push its golden fingers through the cloudy skies over Curepe Junction. The hum of early traffic blended with the chatter of schoolchildren and the call of vendors setting up along the pavement.
Chaguanas taxi drivers hustled passengers out of maxis into their seven-seaters to head to Chaguanas. At the corner by the old hardware, Ravi’s doubles cart stood like a loyal sentry, bright red canopy, steaming bara, and that unmistakable scent of channa simmering in curry and garlic.
It was Friday, and Budget Day was coming on Monday. The whole country seemed to be holding its breath. Ravi wiped his hands on a towel, his fingers moving with the rhythm of years of experience. Bara in hand, he shouted, “Next! Pepper or no pepper?”
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