Robero made his way down the cobbled lane which ran from the latin quarter like a twisted snake hidden in copiapoa cacti and a river of grey sienna dust that this part of town sat in defianty, a sickly sow hog. Robero never liked to take this route, although the quickest, as he could see Murrieta banditos in all the shadows and hiding in tin-roof shacks or he would hear the soft pad of stolen zapatillas behind him or feel the sharp sting of a long-blade corvo searing through his kidney. You wouldn’t trust your grandmother in this part of town but needs be as needs must and he either challenged Ferer or faced the consequences of the elaborate web he had spun for his half brother who would certainly report to Umberto if he did not get to him first.

He thought he heard the plaintiff, chilling cry of a mountain bird and in his mind’s eye traced its flight as it flapped those huge black wings, ascending to the rarest thermals and cooling streams of air where Robero wished he was now or back on Robinson Crusoe Island piloting his little airbus and another group of carefree holiday makers with the morning sun in his eyes and a wad of notes in his pocket… 

About edenbray

I've always enjoyed writing and thats all I want to do... .. . I’m not sure why I stopped writing, was it 9/11? .. . Eden Bray is born ugly, wet and covered in blood, mucous and bodily functions. The effluence of my short life .. . I'm a Writer and Artist - since 1966, now a Blogger ~ I write lots of poems, written essays, articles, reviews, opinion + comment .. . please join the shebang but more importantly please leave me a marker with a comment for my ego and my encouragement :- thanks, edenbray
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