The pedicab dropped them off at the mouth of a narrow side street, which was not that far from the main road.
This was clearly the thrift market district.
In the air, the thick smell of old fabric, fried food, and dust gathered.
Seth looked around, taking it all in.
The "thrift stores" weren't stores at all, but a row of open-fronted stalls squeezed tightly together.
Each stall was just a roofed space with metal bars stretched from one side to the other, crammed with hanging clothes.
The clothes themselves were a riot of colors and styles, some faded, some patched, all looking well-worn.
On rickety wooden tables, massive piles of unsorted clothes formed small mountains, with simple cardboard signs displaying prices scrawled in charcoal.
The shopkeepers stood watchfully at the edges of their stalls, their eyes constantly scanning the crowd.
They didn't look unfriendly, but they were definitely weary and alert.
Some of them had their arms crossed as they watched for quick fingers who would possibly steal the clothes they were selling.
In front of the thrift stalls, the street was alive with other vendors.
There were quite a few stalls that seemed to be selling all kinds of vegetables and fruits, next them were bakery stalls where the warm, yeasty smell of fresh bread fought with the scent of sizzling meat from snack stands.
The mix of smells was overwhelming, and Seth found himself scrunching his nose.
Phoebe followed his gaze and let out a small laugh.
"Not used to the smell?"
She said.
"Look, I'm sure you don't want to stand here for an hour while I dig through piles of old dresses. Men never do."
She fished in a small pouch tied to her belt and pulled out a paper bill and a single, yellow-colored coin.
She pressed them into his hand.
"That's 25 bathalas. Could you do me a huge favor and buy a loaf of bread from that bakery right across the street?"
She pointed to a stall with a glass-fronted display.
"We have peanut butter at home, so that's all we need."
She paused, a thoughtful look crossing her face.
"Uh... you do remember what bread is, right? It's the fluffy, baked stuff you eat."
Seth's mouth twitched in a half-smile.
"Yes, I remember bread..."
He said, his tone dry.
"Great!"
She said, already turning back to the colorful piles of fabric.
"I won't be long!"
With that, she dove into the thrift store, her fingers already skimming over a stack of linen shirts.
He watched her dive into the thrift shop, already sorting through the piles with the focus of a treasure hunter.
Seth sighed softly.
The street around him buzzed with life— haggling voices, laughter, and the rustling of hangers clinking against metal bars.
For a moment, he felt out of place, like a stranger standing still while the world moved past him.
'Best to just adjust in this new place first...'
He told himself before crossing the street toward the bakery.
He turned and made his way to the bakery stall Phoebe had indicated.
It was a small, open-fronted shop with a proud display of breads laid behind a smudged glass pane.
There were long, golden baguettes, round rolls dusted with white powder, and sweet pastries glistening with glaze.
He looked for a menu or price list, but there was none.
The pricing seemed to be a known secret among the locals.
The woman behind the counter noticed his hesitation.
She wiped her flour-dusted hands on her apron and approached.
"Can I help you find something, sir?"
She asked, her voice warm but tired.
Seth looked up at her.
She had long black hair streaked with elegant strands of silver, and a face that, despite the wrinkles of worry on her forehead, was still quite good looking.
It was easy to see she had been a beauty in her youth.
Most striking, however, was the pronounced, round bulge of her pregnancy, pressing against the front of her apron.
Seth offered a polite smile.
"Good morning. I'm new to the area, and I'm not sure about your prices. My friend sent me to buy a loaf of bread. She said it would be 25 bathalas?"
The woman returned his smile, a genuine one that reached her eyes.
"Ah, you're in the right place then."
She half-turned, looking toward a curtained doorway behind the stall that presumably led to a kitchen.
"Glenn! Are the loafbreads ready yet?"
A teenager's voice, slightly cracking, yelled back.
"No, Mom! Still have to slice the next batch!"
"Ready one up quickly and bring it out! We have a customer waiting!"
She called back.
She turned her attention back to Seth.
"I'm sorry, you'll have to wait just a few minutes. The new batch is still being sliced. I hope that's alright?"
"Not a problem at all."
Seth said amiably.
"A few minutes is fine."
They made small talk as they waited—
Seth commenting on the pleasant busyness of the street, the woman mentioning how the morning rush had cleared her out faster than usual, and how her name was Glorina.
Soon enough, a lanky boy emerged from the back, holding a wrapped, still-warm loaf.
Seth paid the 25 bathalas, thanked the woman, and took the bread.
He had just turned to leave when a shift in the atmosphere stopped him dead.
The lively chatter of the market died down, replaced by a wave of murmurs and hushed, urgent conversations.
A commotion was brewing farther down the street.
"Are they finally here to collect the body?"
Someone whispered loudly.
"Such a shame... a man his age, alone like that."
"That rotten smell has been driving my customers away all morning! What took them so long?"
The snippets of conversation washed over him. Even the pregnant baker fell silent, her friendly expression melting into one of grim apprehension. She stared down the street, her hand unconsciously resting on her belly.
Seth followed her gaze.
The crowd seemed to part, making way for something—or someone.
The baker Glorina leaned slightly toward Seth, her voice dropping to a fearful whisper.
"A witch is here...."