I'm the Newspaper Seller
3. Friends of Newspapers Sellers

The more rotating the time the darker the atmosphere of the city of Jakarta that never escapes the word traffic jam. Street lights as street lights now appear to light up the highway which is still crowded with many vehicles passing by.

So many vehicles that Jakarta has even a long and wide road as if it can not accommodate many vehicles. Bastian once thought of being able to own a car or a vehicle that the rich had, however, unfortunately, Bastian can only stand tapping on the surface of the car's glass window to offer newspapers and some wipes hoping someone buys them.

The sound of meldu adzan. The sound of car horns sounds alternately as if to put each other down. They can't wait to go home. I ran across the white-striped street when the red light was visible. This time I was not looking to offer a few newspapers and wipes that only reduced a little, not a lot but it was already very grateful for me.

In front there was already a boy who was almost the same age as me. They also appear to be hugging some tissue packs and newspapers that are of course the same brand that Bastian has.

"Why are you so long?"

The question was immediately thrown from the boy in white clothes who looked seedy. Her name is Mandra. His body looks thin so very small even I feel if Mandra's body is only inhabited by bones only.

Bastian even realized when he had grown up if his friend turned out to be one of the dirtiest creatures. Just look, dry snot stuck to his nose. Shabby face with messy hair and even occasionally he seemed to scratch his head as if he had never taken a bath.

His son was so dirty even more so on his fingers that looked dirty as if he had been rummaging through the trash. His nails were long and blackened as if they had never been cut. Bastian didn't even think he had this dirty friend.

"Yes you are so long. I'm so tired of waiting for him," added another friend of Bastian.

Ignore the mixture of English words. The planet's language sometimes makes Bastia dizzy. This time Bastian's close friend is somewhat different from Mandra.

If Mandra is a very dirty child then it is different from Joy. Joy is a rich kid. His skin is pure white only he deliberately wears tattered clothes so that he looks much more like Bastian and his friends.

But of course that does not make it look like Bastian and his friends who are already poor and destitute from the beginning. The aura of good looks and wealth cannot be lost from the figure of Joy.

Joy is a child of a housing complex whose average is a rich man. Joy is the son of a doctor and her mother, a boutique owner. Of course he has a lot of cars.

Bastian doesn't even understand why a kid like Joy who lives more than enough is willing to sell newspapers and wipes like Bastian and his friends. Either because of confusion or just want to find experience. If the only reason to find pocket money, Joy has a lot of money. He often asked Bastian and other friends to eat meatballs by the roadside after selling newspapers and tissues.

"I'm sorry my friends forgot that you're waiting here" Bastian replied with a grin.

Hearing the answer from Bastian the two friends shook their heads and not long ago they chose to continue the journey. Not only are these two friends of Bastian alone very close to him however, there are some.

"Bastian! The mandra! Joy! Wait!"

The shout was heard making Bastian and the others stop their steps and turn to look at the stocky boy who was running to cut the road.

He was seen carrying a white radio that he deliberately put on his shoulder while one hand deliberately hugged several sheets of newspaper that seemed to thin. Bastian admitted that the stocky child who almost looks like a magical ape friend who resembles a pig figure is good at selling newspapers. I don't know what the buyer wants to buy the newspaper.

"Tumben you long?" bastian asked his fat friend. His name is Badrul, his hobby is just eating.

"I saw there was an accident."

"No."

"Brought to the hospital?"

"No," he replied a little confused while scratching his non-itchy head.

"Then?" ask the curious Bastian.

"Just get an ambulance."

Joy patted the eel and said, "That means she was taken to the hospital."

"Hospital?" call it with a typical Indonesian accent that is so rigid in pronouncing English sentences.

"Hospital is not a hospital" Bastian said, allowing his lips to make Badrul frown in confusion.

"Areally bad the guy who was in the accident?" mandra asked who finally spoke.

"It's not just that his head broke."

"Bloody?"

"Bloody" he answered lightly.

After that Bastian and his friends took their steps towards the big boss.

"Hi little one!" Mandra shouted at the 6-year-old boy who appeared to be still peddling newspapers and tissues from the car to the car.

The little boy looked up and ran towards them. He is Bastian's best friend and his other friends. In friendship, the little boy, the easiest Sodiq as well as the smallest body among the five of them.

Sodiq's small body when he stood up his body only reached the bottom of the ribs of Bastian and his friends. He is also one of the children of newspaper sellers who sell quickly. Maybe it was because of pity or it was funny to see such a small child selling newspapers and wipes on a road so crowded with vehicles.

For Bastian Sodiq is the son whose life is the saddest but of course all the lives of his friends are also sad except for Joy who is only trying to find pain and yet, the life of Sodiq is really so sad.

Sodiq is a young boy who has to bash around for money to support his grandmother. Bastian had heard the story if Sodiq was entrusted to his grandmother then both parents went wandering and until now they have not returned from overseas.

No phone calls, no mail, no remittances and no news. They all seemed to be completely lost like swallowed by the earth and Sodiq never once intended to find the figure of his parents. I don't know if he'll be looking for her if he grows up.

Although Sodiq's life was so sad but the sadness was never plastered on the face that was so innocent. The boy was always seen smiling and rarely crying and almost never sad or tearful unless he was yelled at by the boss.