Following her up the inclined sidewalk was slow and tedious. Years of smoking had taxed her lungs and she had to stop and gasp for breath every tenth step. Upon reaching her building, two streets over from the New Acropolis Museum but hidden, down in a nest of modern towers, she was rattling like a wild bird in a metal box. We went in and took the elevator to the second floor, all the while I was trying to memorize my steps so I would be able to find it again one day, like Hansel leaving his breadcrumbs. But when we turned right down the corridor I could see from far which door was hers. The one with the giant metal snake for a handle.
Creeeeaaaak! Door opens and in the shadows and light, east met west. I didn't know if I was in Greece, China, or some alternate universe where furnishings consist of Hong Kong plush toys and towers of books.
