5) ARCHED HOUSE
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The last four days, I felt as though I lived a single day over and over. All the streets resembled one another: each paved with yellow stones, adorned with steep bumps, ending in a crumbling archway; all were filled with same odour of salt, dust and garbage, echoing with same tumult of street vendors and the clink of idlers’ backgammon dice. Each house resembled the next: the window blinds broken, the wooden doors perennially open – which perhaps surprised me more than all the rest. The doors always stood wide open, as if the entire town comprised one immense household.
