Sitting on the pavement peddling handipack tissues. Veiled, dull eyes. Dirty feet outstretched. Everyday I see her. Lots of hers. Battered ship-ship flop off her feet as she shuffles down the street. Body hanging beneath the dusty, dirty gallabeya. Pretty eyes, dirty skin.

It is rumoured that most women living on the street sell more than just tissues. Sometimes not sold, but stolen. It’s not the only place where people steal. The difference is that there are few places where we literally have to step over her to go with our cushioned lives.