Still, when I introduce myself to him one late afternoon in December, he greets me with warm familiarity. Waseem is 32. He has watery eyes, a big head of hair, and a bit of a belly. English isn’t his first language, but he named his stall, which he operates with his partner, Mohammed Irshad, “Fisheries.” He says the English word attracts upper-middle-class families and expats. Like the other fishmongers, he wears neither apron nor gloves. After observing his interaction with the customer in the Superman sweatshirt, I ask him why he never smiles.