The Wistful Saga
Chapter One The market of Addis Ababa stretched out before the rising sun, a sea of indigo and ochre where the air smelled of roasting coffee and wet wool, and the arithmetic of the trade was shouted aloud by merchants who counted their coins with a precision that felt like a prayer, a rhythm that bound the chaos of the crowd into a single, breathing entity. I stood at the edge of the bridge...
0 Comments 0 Shares 1 Views 0 Reviews