My feet ache
wonderfully. I’ve worn the soles of my
boots down to wafers and the only thing that gets me back to the hostel is a
cool beer in a dark bar, the cigarette smoke dragged languorously through the
air by lazy fan blades.
Of course, it’s usually the
streetcars that actually get me back to mid-town – brightly painted wooden
carriages clacking and swaying along their rails. They run until deep into the night and
they’ve been doing so since the Victorian era (with a few interruptions).
