I don't always go to one, but when I do, I spend my time looking at the stains on the walls, the colour and vibrance of the fish that stand out in the dim lighting, the gag-inducing fishy smell, white styrofoam boxes filled with fish guts - as I would, taking my time to go through each rack of lovely clothing.
As weird as it may seem, I've got the softest spot for fish markets.
Even when I get yelled at to move out of the way of uncles on fish-transporting bikes.
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