Nakamora feels bad about himself every time an elderly approaches him. Plastic bags in both hands, full with packages of kerepek or some kinds of local snacks. With sad eyes, they would beg him to buy the snack. Not the kind that he likes, and often times the packaging too has almost worn out. He pity the peddlers, but several hundreds questions rush in his mind, begging for answers:
- where are they from?
- who brought them here?
- where do they stay?
- is the daily sale enough to support them?
- who made the products that they peddle around?
and, most importantly, where are their kin and siblings? At that age they should be resting and just relaxing...
