The Glass Half Empty
It was twilight. The sun was setting behind the mountains. Birds were returning to the safety of their nests. The trees had bowed down their canopy, as though cowing down against the terrors of the night. The sky was switching shades from a gay blue to fiery red, yellow, orange with a fast-approaching shade of grey. Mansukhram had withdrawn the tables placed in front of his tea-shop, signaling the end-of-business for the day. His accomplices would soon return in the last bus from the city with their day’s remuneration, all of which would be risked in several rounds of gambling through the night, within the inner confines of Mansukh’s tea shop. This had been their routine for the past 30 years, and tonight would be no exception.