The far flame

You walk past all of it. The stalls thin out, the noise goes soft behind you, and the last light is a candle stub on a bare table with two chairs.

There is nothing for sale. There is a woman sitting with her hands round a cup, and she pushes the second chair out with her foot.

“You came straight here,” she says. “Most people shop first. It is all right — the stalls will still be there. Nothing here closes while somebody is still playing.”