Waiting for the boat to take me across to the other side, i can't concentrate on my book so i glance at the people around me.

A page 3 wannbe, peering disdainfully through her large fake Chanel sunglasses, cursing her useless husband and wishing like hell that she owned one of those zippy little white speed boats. As the locals push past her with their hold-alls and gas cyclinders, she clutches her belongings a little bit tighter. I want to giggle at her discomfort, so i look away instead.

Across from me, sitting on the wall, a guy in white pants, chewing on a toothpick. He has on a thick gold chain, but the locket has disappeared into the thicket on his chest. From his pocket, he takes out a packet of gutka. He spits out his toothpick, empties the contents into his mouth and then causually throws it aside. I open my mouth to protest, to tell him to pick it up and throw it in the dustbin, but then decide against it. Why get into a conversation with him. He doesn't seem the decent type. As i look back at the packet, a wind catches it and takes it to the sea. As it floats, shiny and crude in the water, i get angry at myself for not having said anything.

A woman settles down on the steps beside me. She looks like a simple villager waiting to get back home. She seems to exude a deep sadness. I try to look at her eyes and all i see is a vague glazed look. In her hand is a crumpled piece of paper. As she sits there, waiting for the boat, she opens up the paper and then crumples it up again. In that quick second, i happen to glance at the paper. It says Child Adoption Centre. Now i feel bad for being so nosy.