The Golden Downtown
The wind off the coast does not howl in this part of the world; it hums, a low, resonant drone that vibrates in the marrow of your bones before it even reaches your ears. You stand at the edge of the cliff, looking down at the labyrinth of stone and mortar that clings to the hillsides like a scar tissue of history. It is the old city, the one that was supposed to be your salvation, the place...
0 Comments 0 Shares 7 Views 0 Reviews