The tourist walks in, camera in hand.
They get out all, loosening their fangs, big yawns and a loud song. Searching for the nearest loo, they troop together, one guarding the other and the other guarding another. One lucky tea bush gets the honest pee.
The man of the family takes out his cam, he shoots his son and then the world. He poses himself for a selfie, for that is the latest fad. Calls for his wife and shows her the tea. As if her eyes could not see. They troop into some Echo Point and join the others in a shouting stand. Tired, they walk away unable to force the echo's sway.
They reach the market full of vehicles, crawling - resembling a languid snake. They walk along the corners, watching trinkets being sold. People dressed like zombies, also called as tourists. They walk the street, not once or twice but several times on. Up and down the market, yet nothing's been bought, bargain is on yet nothing is bought. The shopkeeper cries out loud. The tourist is here to gawk and not for form.
The tourist walks off, camera in hand.