The city that remembers everything.

Page thirty-four.

The city that remembers everything.

The old town of Corfu smells of a wall. Not of flowers, not of the sea - a stone wall that has seen too much to tell.

I like to walk there alone. In the narrow shadow between the houses, where the washing on the lines speaks louder than people. There, steps sound like thoughts. And if you fall silent, you will hear what the city whispers. It does not forget. It protects.

Here you can take a wrong turn and find yourself in silence. Real silence. Where there is no one. Where only light lies on the pavement, and for a minute it seems that it is not you who is walking around the city, but it is walking around you.

I like to touch the walls.