Small talk

The little fellow tugged at my kurta.

I was at the Sphinx, trying to get a good angle with my digicam to highlight the ignominious broken nose of the mythical half-woman half-lion monster.

Another tug, this time accompanied by some of the most perfect English I have heard.

I was surprised. The little fellow was clearly Egyptian and not more than 10 years old. But his pronounciation and fluency could have shamed an adult.

"It's just 1 pound for 10 postcards", he repeated.

His wares did not interest me. We had been warned by our guide not to buy any picture postcards at Giza. We will get then much cheaper on the bus or at the port.

"No, Thanks. I don't need them", I said ruffling his unkempt hair.

"They are nice. Here, you can see them.". His diction was so good that it was hard to say which was out of place, his english or the rags that he wore.

"No, Thanks.", said I.

"Please. For me. It's just 1 pound for 10 postcards."

What's this fellow doing out here peddling pictures of mammoth mausoleums to insignificant specks like me. He should be out there in a cubicle helping out a customer with a stuck printer or a blocked bank account. Not that it is better work but atleast the moolah is good.

"Hey! where did u learn such good english?", I asked him.

"Please. For me. It's just 1 pound for 10 postcards.", said he.

"I don't need them. Your english is very good. Where did u learn it?", said I.

"They are nice. Here, you can see them.", said he.

"Where do u stay?", I asked him.

"Please. For me. It's just 1 pound for 10 postcards.", said he.

"Nil scio nec nescio", said I.

"They are nice. Here, you can see them.", said he.

"Cogito ergo sum. Veni, vidi, vici. Au revoir. Carpe diem.", said I.

"Please. For me. It's just 1 pound for 10 postcards.", said he.