...The sound of a tram rattled and banged as the hard steel wheels stopped, I did my usual leap and grab for the rail and jumped from the last step. I unwrapped the small rectangular plastic bag, and pulled out the little twisted cigarette I made on the way into the city. Not my best work, but what difference will it make? Match, scrape, flame, sulpherous vapor, tiny crackle, smoke...Hand in my pocket, I walk up the hill, the wide smooth footpath leading to where I will sit and try and remember all that's around me.
The Sahara, says the sign, has this doorway always had this sign above it? Or maybe uncovered in a country second hand shop? I squish the tiny butt and make my way up the elevator like stairs to the top....
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