Market trips were Kimeya's most and least favorite thing.

Most of the time, he would pick up a few simple food stuffs to prepare his meals for the day, or the next few days if he was feeling ambitious.  Fruits and veggies and spices and bread and smaller, sweeter things to treat himself if he was having a hard week.  Those days were the pleasant ones.

The less pleasant ones were ones like today, when Kimeya was carrying more than he cared to unless he was working.  But what choice did he have?  His favorite pot back home, the one his mother had been using to cook for him since he was a child, had finally broken.  He was devastated, and he knew his mother would be too, and now without a pot.

Now, though, he had a pot.  And utensils and seasonal tablecloths and things he didn't even know he'd needed until he was at the market and the people selling them had been so convincing.

Now, Kimeya also had his arms full.  He didn't know how he'd make it home without dropping his things.  So, when a man he hadn't noticed leaned forward and offered a ride, Kimeya was quick to stop in his tracks, think for a moment, and nod.