‘Night,’ he continued. ‘A sky of dark blue. Market umbrellas like triangular black holes against the squat, square mud buildings surrounding the town centre. Their dark windows like empty eyes looking out over the noisy milling crowd. I pass a group of young men leaning against a building, smoking, laughing, telling dirty jokes.’
Вы ознакомились с фрагментом книги.
Приобретайте полный текст книги у нашего партнера: