In the true nature of a teenager, I was moving in the opposite direction to the cold winter winds and away from the area where a taxi was waiting to take me to school. I was moving towards a queue of big, bulgy people-variations of what I will become if I joined it. Red lights don't always come into focus when all around people with large bags of 'vetkoeks' are wearing triumphant smiles on their faces. A while later, the old woman in front of me in the line bounced away exposing the lady that sells the fatty wonders. She looked as if the 'vetkoeks' were pieces of her own flesh that she cuts off and sells to make a living.
"How many do you want?" she grunts.
How many DO i want?
I hate defining moments in life.