Aalok and Siraj sit on the church steps, admiring early evening’s deep amber glow.
‘They say the new light is that colour – that bright, even’, Siraj says.
‘They say a lot of things”, Aalok replies, taking four clear glass bottles from his bag.
‘Have you heard much about it?’
‘Talk of cables and wires, but no sign of anything. Try not to worry. What does the evening have in store for you?’,
‘Full moon tonight, I’ll be out for a while’, Siraj says, filling the bottles with moonlight from his barrel before handing them back.
‘Then I will say goodnight, let you get on, head back before this lot fades’.
The day’s final light sinks into the white walls of the church. ‘I’m sorry. There’ll be brighter stuff in the morning – it’s always duller at the bottom of the barrel’.
‘Maybe the cable light won’t be so bad, eh?. And at least you’ll be done pushing that barrel around.’
‘What if I like pushing this barrel around?’, Siraj says, shoving it into Aalok’s legs, spilling a bottle from the bag in his arms. The two old men watch as it clinks and tumbles, coming to rest in old red dust – a pool of light and broken glass.