It is late in the day. Fazil Fahri stands in
his store, his hands clasped behind him, waiting. Like a
character in a play, waiting for the plot point. The
action that will motivate his next move. But there is
nothing. No stage direction. No dialogue. The rug merchant moves
to the window. He looks at the sidewalk below. People
move about. In contrast, Fazil Fahri feels so solitary and
so still, as though he may be fading away. He
wonders if this happens, sometimes. If a person is so
totally alone and inconsequential that he simply ceases to exist.
Paraphrases from the novel The Rug Merchant by Meg Mullins.