I'm on an elevated train passing over an old, decaying neighbourhood on the cusp of gentrification. Most of the original houses still standing are in poor repair, with broken windows, peeling paint, and sagging porches. The surrounding areas have been leveled or are in the process of being excavated for new foundations. I get off the train at the border between this area and one that is still resisting redevelopment. I'm supposed to be meeting someone at a local tea shop, but I've got a fair bit of time to kill, so I wander into an isolated corner store with heavy grilles over the windows and Christmas lights strung around the window and door frames.
Inside, there are the standard items - small, overpriced grocery staples, cigarettes, lottery tickets, and snacks. There is also a wall dedicated to various posters looking for or advertising apartments, jobs, and goods of dubious provenance. The shopkeeper is a short man in a faded tie-dyed t-shirt, a scruffy beard, and small round glasses. He suggests that I check out the local market down the block. "It's quite a sight, even if you're not looking for anything in particular." I've got a fairly heavy bag, but he offers to look after it while I'm at the market. "Not like I got any plans tonight, more's the pity."
I have a few misgivings about leaving my stuff with this fellow, but then there's nothing really valuable (or interesting) in my bag, so after some dithering I hand him my backpack and wander off down the street. The entrance to the market is marked by a small grubby sign strung up over an alley between two semi-habitable brick apartment buildings. The alley runs straight for about 10 meters, then turns into an unpredictable labyrinth. The asphalt gives way to cobblestones. The houses and apartment buildings on either side lean inward, allowing only a sliver of sky in between to remain visible.
After walking for a while, I notice that the buildings appear uninhabited - they're full of stacks and piles of cloth, which spill out the windows into the street. Some of the cloth has tags attached indicating a price per meter or bolt, some of it appears to be printed with ads for various shops further along in the market. The path slopes gradually but steadily downhill, and apart from other tourists on the path, I haven't seen a single person. There are no longer any houses - the cloth (and yarn, and what looks like shredded paper) are contained in massive, transparent plastic containers, their sides bulging. These give way to plain white walls, and then I find myself in a rabbit warren of branching paths, some of which lead to private residences, some to small cafes, smoke shops, and pawnbrokers. I find myself walking through someone's backyard, then wind up in a tea shop. The woman wiping off a table tells me that the shop won't be open until after dark. I pass by a few large rooms strewn with cushions and fake-fur rugs, lit by candles and lava lamps. Hugely dilated eyes peer at me from dark corners and arms wave languidly like seaweed, beckoning me inside. I keep going.
The light becomes brighter, as if I'd been walking all night without realizing it. Now the rooms are occupied by families, still lounging around on the cushions, but eating breakfast and playing games. There's one area packed wall to wall with bicycles of various sizes and styles. I suspect they're stolen, but the fellow selling them banters pleasantly with passers-by.
When I finally come out the other side, the sun is going down, and the facade is lit up garishly. This side is obviously a tourist attraction, complete with souvenir stalls and the ubiquitous candy shop with dozens of different kinds of fudge. I have no idea where the corner store is from here, so I head towards a tour bus to ask directions.
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