In your stained dishdasha, drooping collar, and sneakers with grimy laces, you stand waiting. You see him poring over a faded paper, its lines glowing red with numbers and scribbles. The paper yells: Overdue payment!
Staggered, the grocer asks, “When did you come?”
“A few minutes ago.”
“I didn’t notice.”
“Well, now that you have, cough up your rent.”