The little drama ends quietly

A man crouches low, cardboard in hand, sweeping the crab back from its short-lived freedom. A second later it’s dangling in the air, his grip firm, his face half-smiling—like someone who’s just reclaimed a lost coin. The crab stretches its claws, not as a victory sign but like punctuation at the end of a joke. Around us people chuckle; the market floor glistens, as if nothing ever happened.