Sophia gardens. First day of September. Mist forms droplets on the handles of the buggy. Helicopters spin to the pavement and crackle beneath my feet. A man sits on the bench drinking coffee from a thermos. His cap is pulled down but his leather rucksack smiles when it sees us. It says, ‘How splendid – after the heat and sweat to wake up in mist – throw open the doors to let the cool flood inside the terraces and drain warmth from the pale stone.’ The man pops the mouth of his bag silent and stares at the floor. The wheels are muddy where we went up the mountain. This is our second trip into the city.
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