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Continued from above:
That evening I followed the garden path to the interrsecting road. By now the sun had almost set. A steady flow of people subtley slipped into a small side-street across from me. I followed, glad to have been given a direction to continue in, under a carved archway (usually a good sign if you're a tourist looking for cheap food and junk). The street was filled with people, bikes and occassionally cars, squeezing through the crowd like Knight Buses. Uneven steps led up to the tiny doorways of shops (clothes, hair, music, food and ever so many bars). The atmosphere alone was intoxicating. Decaying stone streets strung up with lights and neon signs , filled with voices, more music fading in and out and an almost full moon hiding behind a jagged cloud above a tree improbably fitting within the narrow space, and underneath all that, the fluid crowd. I walked down the street about a kilometre to the end, looking at shop windows but not going in. On the way back I vowed to look in every shop I was vaguely interested in, so I did. I went up and down twice and each shop I entered was cool and filled with scents. Inscence, oils, paper, leather, smoke (weed) all culminating and making smell my most fortunate sense as I wandered. Hours later I found my way back onto the street, half expecting the alley to be gone when I looked back. It stayed.
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