In one of the prettiest towns of Spain named Rota where every imperfections are possibly taken to triumph through their hardest toil, where I, being contrary to all of the town dwellers in Rota, do not like working in those fertile fields. It is Rota due to which the lights in the markets of Cadiz are glowed, where the quality of the yielded crops are graded significantly, where the people are entitled with pumpkin and tomato growers and the heart part is arability of soil is not gifted by mother nature but it is from the great endurance of every farmers whose sweats are flooded outstandingly in the field. You earn prestige if you are farmer in Rota otherwise you will miss it. So, I am compelled to work in my garden with my interest at its possibly lowest level. This year I plan not giving up my time to this hectic work. See, how barren and poorness are acknowledging my garden! I am amazed to see how my neighbor, whom we call Uncle Buscabeatas, obsessively work in his garden. I wonder how he can touch those tomato plants 40 times a day and kiss them. Ew…….! However, his constant diligence is to be applause. Look at those mighty pumpkins turning yellow. Happy is he when he sells them in remarkable amount. But what if I steal those luscious pumpkins and sell in the market of Rota overnight? Perhaps, this is not a good idea. His intimacy with his products are very much close that he will take no longer time to recognize them. Or shall I be taking those pumpkins to Cadiz through freight boat in twelve? Since, I am running out of money and soon be having impoverished life so I have to make this night vital to sustain my livelihood.
Having dark attire at 9:30, assuming that the old man has felt asleep soon after his lunch, I carry huge sack where I begin to put those luscious pumpkins and cruise towards Cadiz at 12. I sell them to vendor for 15 duros overnight. I can see the gracefulness in vendor when putting the duros on my palm and at the same time, I can imagine how ruthless behavior I have done to my fellow neighbor, how he will be moaning tomorrow when dawn arrive? Let it be.
It was the time of noon where I desire to roam around the market of Cadiz. I see gathering of many people for some reasons I don’t know. Soon after I go there, the vendor to whom I sold those entities last night question me if the pumpkins were stolen. I feel no bounds of trepidation and try to escape but others prevent me to pass away. With credence in my heart, I accuse Uncle Buscabeatas of making untruth claim and will be taken to custody for sure. Amazingly, the sack he untie after a moment introduces number of green stems and begin to fit those with pumpkins and I should admit the fact that I really stole those pumpkins and hand over 15 duros to that vendor.
Imprisoned life is serving me better dishes than my home does. How wonderful it is!!
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