'I need a long-brief moment,' he breathlessly gasped to a rowdy audience of rampant thoughts and ravaged emotions and sat on an old wooden bench still damp from the previous night's downpour. Across the narrow leaf-strewn path, lined in moss-adorned brick, was an antique lamp-post that had seen better nights, and his eyes wandered to the concrete base that had become a condominium of sorts for the odd insect. Against the fading back-drop of a 'No Littering' sign were plastic bags filled with assorted souvenirs of human recalcitrance for rule and regimen. At the top of that fuming fustian fullness was a crumpled McDonald's bag which made the 'M' look like a 3- perhaps hastily offered up for Pandora's peruse.
Silhouetted by the amber glow of the sinking Sun, was a large bottle-green fly, rubbing its feet in grotesque glee, as it sipped silently from the sugary residue of an open soda cup. It was a rare moment and there he sat surrounded by strange beauty and seasoned ugliness. He rubbed his knees, still sore from the long run, and felt tiny beads of sweat run down the back of his legs and soak into his socks- like scores of infinitesimal tributaries seeking the solace of a river but sadly finding a parched cotton desert. He chuckled to see that his shoes were covered in tiny slivers of grass much like hair on clothes after thirty minutes in a barber's chair.
Not so far away, a large old woman sat anxiously on a wooden crate, selling freshly boiled corn and peanuts with a booming voice and a beckoning look. There were hawkers selling barbecued banana, grilled chicken liver and gizzard, steaming siopao, ice-cold beverages, and fruit and bare-foot children selling awkwardly strung sampaguita garlands. As his eyes began to inventory everything around him, he noticed the syncopated cadence in the providentially conducted inadvertent music, accompanied by a mélange of mechanical noises, blaring horns and screeching tires. He smiled. Strangely, the chaos that surrounded him brought a quiet order to heart and mind.
From the corner of his eyes he saw a sudden burst of orange and turned to see that the Sun had escaped the frayed hem of a low-dwelling cloud that yet hung over the slender painted smoke-stacks of the power-station, and was perfectly placed…it looked the bald-warrior with a sun-burnt head genuflecting at the henna-stained feet of his queen.
In a few scattered moments life taught him more than he had learnt elsewhere, past cobbled corridors, steep stairways, stuffy lecture-halls and sanctimonious wise-men. The ache in his knees mysteriously vanished now replaced by the gentle warmth of the glowing content in his soul.
Roti n' Roller soniye…dole yeh man tere liye 
Remember, I'm your friend. Lmao.
Bourne can slaughter Bond's donkey any day Lol. Hello Heera!