There is a certain beauty in poverty. A voyeuristic feel when we walk through the slums, the markets, the squares of poor places. The colors, the vividness, the loud talks and flirts with vendors. A sense of being alive. Being able to spend a whole day, buying little things we don't need, just to stay there, drowned in the sensation.
I don't want to know what is behind the facade of smiles. I don't want to know the story of the little kid selling me peanuts. I want to see that beautiful picture, the surface. Only that.
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