Trough The Poor Lanes

While walking through the small lanes, a paperboard drew my attention. I was scribing on there: REFRIGERATOR to sell. The letters were badly aligned. It was clear that this sign was written, by somebody who usually does not write. But , one can say that it is almost a table painted with much talent. Curiosity pushes me to throw a glance on this refrigerator. I strike what resembles a door of a hut fallen in ruins. A woman exceeding forty, well arranged hairstyle, wearing a dress which does not have any more a color, but which is very clean, a child of approximately five years holding her hand. She invites me with a natural smile to entry in the kitchen which is not with the fact that a small corner of the SINGLE ROOM of the hut. The pieces of furniture are summarized with a bed, a table out of used wooden, a small case with drawers and the refrigerator concerned. Without preamble, she says to want to sell this article, indicating the refrigerator with a sad air as if she tests sorrow to be separated from it. She specifies that she has an urgent need for money. While wanting to prolong the conversation, I pretend to discuss the price, but she avoids any discussion, while answering very briefly the only questions refer to the object of the sign. By opening the refrigerator, I find that in only one farm water carafe contains, which means that the refrigerator does not even function. I present my excuses at the poor lady to decline the buy. She answers me that the business is closed, although it would have wished to have money to pay the two late months rent, or else the owner would make her out in the street without pity. A tear in the eyes, with a voice which becomes suddenly quivering, she replies that her husband was in prison to have slapped his owner who refused to him the two days wages for absence forced to look after our sick child. By leaving the hut, I throw a last glance on his afflicting decoration. I was in a hurry to leave this lane of misery with a feeling of regret to have discovered this sad truth, and to be impotent to be able to come to assistance of this unhappy lady. The glance of the frail and thin child did much sorrow to me. By telling with my friend about this place, he says that unfortunately there are thousands of identical portraits of this woman, if not it had some worse. I answer that the so much praised development, does not benefit everyone. Undeceive your expensive my friend, it profits above all with the rich person who became more richness.