He hadn’t said a word about a résumé or a career.

A flock of gray pigeons came down on the gravel path in front of my shoes, hunting for crumbs the tourists had dropped.

I let the phone drop to my lap and rubbed the back of my neck with my left hand.

My skin felt tight and cold in the autumn breeze.

My thumbs moved across the glass keyboard, opening a new message box to answer him.

By three in the afternoon, the open-air market on the lower plaza was packed with shoppers carrying canvas bags full of oranges and fresh fish.