Lost in thought Rafael paused. He was finally on Rue des Martyrs. He had dreamed of this moment. His journey from Colombia had been arduous. Yet he stood before number 120. This was the address he’d imagined for years. His father’s words echoed. Never be afraid he’d said. But fear gnawed at him. He pounded on the heavy door. No answer. He felt foolish. Impatient. Then the door creaked open. A woman stood there. A wispy redhead. She looked at him with curious green eyes. She seemed unimpressed. He asked about Carmen. The woman was not Carmen. She said she needed specifics. Rafael stammered. He had no information. The woman asked why he had come. He wanted answers. Then a window flew open. A woman called Laurel’s name. The redhead pulled Rafael into the shadows. She whispered a meeting for tomorrow. He tried to ignore the distraction. He felt her hair brush his cheek. His quest remained. Rue des Martyrs held his answers. He must return.
Центральный дом работников искусств
Step through the grand wooden doors of the Central House of the Workers of Art, and you’ll be transported to