My shoes echo in the alleys, clicks of my heels follow me home. The mornings are often heavy with a thick fog, a huge, dense fog that has fallen upon the city, rolled in by the etched deities that blow the directional winds on the ancient maps. There are no bird songs, but caws and screeches by seagulls and other water birds, even at times during the night. Once in a while, with the girls, I grab a spritz, the classic aperitivo mixed drink…typical that at about 7pm, the bars are filled with the locals sipping orange colored drinks with toothpick-speared green olives, and crunchy snacks. Out door markets, vegetables and sometimes even sea food (all whole, fresh and often alive-YOU do the cutting, deboning, descaling, etc) some even exist on boats that float down a
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