She gleamed with pride, sitting there on the pedestal. The others looked at her enviously, whispering about the latest addition to their commune.
‘Just look at the sheen!’
‘I am guessing she’s imported.’
‘ I wish mine would glow that way.’
Arrogance filled her being. Then, she noticed one amongst them was quiet, far in the corner. He was heavy, bent and tired.
Curious, she called out, ‘How come you’re here? Why haven’t you left?’
His wise eyes looked up, smiled beautifully and he said, ‘I am over 50 years old, but the broth they cook in me tastes like home.’