A tinkle, as a breeze brushes a chime, from water that laps by the tiles of the pool, washing over his legs with sunborne warmth. Out and across the land, the white edifice of the city is lost in the hot haze, blurring the tall columns and grand statues. There's no bustle of commerce. Just the surf of the distant sea and the low growl of the wind passing through hollow buildings.
He brings the bloody mary to his lips. The tang sucks down his throat. What a glorious day, he thinks. And no one around to spoil it.
Paddy Dobson
26th September 2020