The beginning

Just the start of a new novel I'm writing, please give your advice on what I could improve on

“Nuts, fresh nuts here!" Says one.

 "Crisp, ripe, juicy apples! You want em', I've got em'," yells another. The salty stench of fish fills my nostrils from the fisherman’s booth next to me, I turn my head the other way to escape the unpleasant stink. You’d think after years of working in the market I’d be used to the smell, but I still haven’t grown accustomed to it.  I watch as the crowd of people hustle and bustle along the busy streets, none of them bothering to stop by my stand. For good reason, most of our goods have been bought already. The only things that remain are a couple loathes of bread and a half dozen cheese buns. One of the people I pick out of the crowd looks awfully familiar, and once he turns around I recognise exactly who it is.                                                                                   

“Gil!” I shout across the market street, with a smile. I catch his eye and he beams back, flashing his gleaming teeth and saunters over to my booth. His normal, cheerful self. I’m still not sure how I’m going to brake this to him, or even I can. 

“Hey there, how’s it going?” He asks, as he leans against my stand. The way he carries himself sometimes baffles me, it isn’t hard to notice his air of confidence.

“I’m actually just about to close up.” I say, looking up to him from my seat. I can’t help but notice his striking green eyes. They have a certain sparkle to them. Alluring and sensual, with a touch of mischief.

“Oh, really? In that case, would you like to go on a walk with me?” He asks before grabbing the last of the cheese buns and sliding three dollars across the counter. He leans forward, waiting for my answer. I take the money and slip it into the back pocket of my shorts because I just put away the money jar moments ago.

“Sure, just let me pack up.” I take the last two loathes of bread and the money jar and put them into my backpack, sling it onto my back and flip the old timber sign to closed.

“Ready?” Gil asks, I nod and we start to make our way through the busy market. Gil and I push and shove through the sea of hectic people, trying to avoid trampling on the running kids. With every step I take I can hear the clinking of coins which is accompanied by the money jar thumping against my back.  And soon enough the loud buzz of the market turns into a soft hum, and we pass by the last of the booths. The tidy stone street quickly disappears into a dirt path. I take in a deep breathe, of the clean air. The difference between the market air and the fresh air is remarkably different.

The End

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