The sea sparkled cobalt in the distance, white sails dotting the bay. It was the Old World at its finest, ancient buildings rolling low over the hills in their march down to the Mediterranean, bathed in golden sunlight. In other circumstances, I would have loved to have taken a few moments to appreciate the beauty of Marseilles. Harris closed the trunk, my backpack over one shoulder, and jerked his chin at me, indicating that I should follow. He stopped on a street that sloped steeply down toward the sea, parked the Aston Martin and set the handbrake, then popped the trunk and slid out. He seemed to have a particular destination in mind, because he wove through the narrow streets without hesitation. Harris drove us to Marseilles, and we arrived late in the afternoon.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |