Laundry Line, Downhill
Alfama
I stood where the rails converged and let the small yellow car climb toward me. Shirts hung overhead, unmoving in the noon heat. Nobody hurried, though the street seemed built for it.
Alfama
I stood where the rails converged and let the small yellow car climb toward me. Shirts hung overhead, unmoving in the noon heat. Nobody hurried, though the street seemed built for it.