A long weekend somewhere with hills and old paper-coloured buildings, walked mostly on foot. Every turn opened another small square with a tiled fountain and an empty café chair waiting for the afternoon to fill it. We ate too much of the local pastry and apologised to no one.
An older neighbourhood at dusk. A voice two floors above us calling down to a child in the alley, doing the work of a doorbell.A tram, paused on a hill that should not have been a hill. Two strangers playing cards on the running board between stops.Late afternoon light off a river so wide that the far bank looked like another country, which it almost was.