I have a penchant for silence. I'm sitting by the window cleaning a watermelon.
I imagine a tiger ate the child of the Indian waiter talking on his mobile on the terrace.
It had emerged from black undergrowth and the last thing the child saw were its golden eyes which had collected sunlight by day.
Everyone in the restaurant is inconsolable.
They serve food, count the takings and drink till late.
I listen to them sing.
One of them has a husky voice and my silence becomes rough on my skin.