I heard the roar of his motorcycle before I saw him, quieting to a murmur as he parked beside the shed. I knew he would use the overrun bushes nearby to hide his bike and I heard the crinkle of the leaves as he walked to the door. Five steps separated his bike from the door and I counted them in my head.
The stones of the archway were cool under her fingertips and the cobblestone pathway was unevenly potholed. The air itself smelled different here. A wet aroma of fish permeated from the market two streets over, blending with the rich spices and sharp ginger that infused the city. Read More »