From my novel, Love Like Hate:

A few steps from Phuong there was an old man who sat behind an old scale. You came to him to learn your weight. The chubbiest people in the neighborhood felt a compulsive need to step on his scale several times a day. They kept him high on the hog because he charged by the pound. Though he had no knowledge of medicine, everyone called him “doctor.” The day was long and sometimes he fell asleep. As soon as he started snoring, thieves and beggars would step on his scale for free. In his dreams, he often saw these lowlifes gleefully weighing themselves, but he couldn’t do anything about it. Waking up, he would console himself by looking over at Phuong and thinking, At least my fingers aren’t slimy and I don’t smell like fish.