The slate walkway tiles under the wide awning would have felt cool and smooth to bare feet once upon a time. This would have been a comfortable place, in the shade and out of the sun. It would have been a busy place, with people walking from shop to shop or gathering in doorways talking. But that time was gone. Events had changed things.
Although the slate tiles remained, debris littered the walkway. The storefront windows were broken. Wires and cables hung from the damaged awning. You would not want to walk barefoot around this place today.
In the distance, a car burned, its fuel running out on the street, throwing up bright orange flames, filling the street with black smoke. The curb was littered with plastic and paper and rocks and broken pieces of brick. A blue bucket filled with debris sat in the gutter. Across the street, daylight shone thru a gaping hole in what used to be a wall.
Nearby, a woman sat on the ground near a octagonal pillar that held up part of this once-shaded place. She was covered in a black robe so dark that you could not see the folds in the fabric. Her hair was grey. Her bare forearms rested on folded knees, muscles strong from her years. At her feet were four clear plastic bottles filled with water.
She turned her head.
And at that moment, the camera snapped.
source: photo from Unembedded
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