The Night in her Days

It had been months since I had been there: crossed that busy road through the impatient halt of vehicles to the other side, breathed the sweet smell of freshly baked muffins rolling out from Flurry’s kitchen, sang along the songs played upon by vendors selling cassettes and CD’s on the footpath and that is just when walking with the tide of people, I had caught her sun kissed face; smiling at her own reflection on the granite wall and since then she...