people mill about, most tourists, some locals, looking at all the shiny jewelry and the hand-made palm-frond baskets, feeling the money in their pockets and the sun on the back of their necks, and somewhere else in the world the president plots a drone strike on a desolate desert in Asia, and two Dutch florists make love after a beautiful anniversary dinner, and a spider dies silently after falling under the sandal of a Brazilian child, and somewhere there is an old rotting apple left out from the morning meal, and somewhere a scientist is weeping with joy at his or her new discovery, and somewhere there is a boy weeping at the loss of his first and only love, and somewhere people make a toast, and somewhere someone drinks alone, and somewhere there is a man writing poetry about a place he just returned from.
and somewhere there is a day, and somewhere there is a night, and somewhere the sun is just setting, and somewhere the sun is just about to rise.