Terracotta

CH6"Beneath the Azure Steps, a Shrouded Bakery"

It was advanced in placidity for the local that it was nothing adorned the clinical sky-blue walls. No instruments lay left from its pâtisserie days as the lone island in the back room came erupting through the roughened tiles on the ground as the stake through the heart of the room. the saddening skates of the workers had ceased that was obvious, but still came from Leo a hint of serenity "really really odd, everyone has been layed off. This just doesn't sit well with me, look at the door; no window it's bleak and so unwelcoming and blank."

Not immediately, but my eyes darted to the door then to the gap adorning the lightless base. "It wasn't levelled, no one needed to see this wide room it feels like not even the staff lay working here. It is so definitely a front, there is a ghost kitchen somewhere above us." Leo placed a foot in front of another again, again, as if measuring the azure footsteps carelessly installed, quickened his pace, and rammed the door, to my surprise it held the ceiling was sodden and the door warped. I complemented his action and left the back door, "no! no lines for supplies to be picked up! They batch cook somewhere else and bring it here! they were open so earlier than rivals that they must have used the neighbouring spaces and unloaded a frenzy of factory set goods. A top tourist trap, but why the empty kitchen?"

"Renovated time and time again through the evolution of the company?" asked Leo "or, to hide a secret from prying eyes!?"

I snivelled from the winter cold outside, came to the mildly warmer interior and beamed at him. grazed his wrist with an indicator to follow and at a combined effort the door keeled to a confident stop when it gashed the wall. The glass panes were curved and fixated with signs and barely average prices not bothered to be taken down by the police. deep in the pits, bellow a metal hole pricked layer lay a metal grill for heating the 'fresh' ornaments reheated from the rich wooden shelves behind the baker These, these where the ones taken care of most certainly.

The smell again of the inner city hit us again and we decided to add some conflict to our research by digging into the layers of the locals and an empathetic accordion sang to passers-by, I had not noticed the wisps of now Un plastered brown hair whip round the corner of the angular windings and limb of the city. The crowd rose in a throaty chant drowning out my senses, I looked for what I could remember, the instruments; out of sight, Leo....

Then before I felt the jerk my elbow kneeled low into a jab as a maroon-dressed and according beret-ed Austrian prepared his parry, I only remember he stuck ever so percussively first before my attack. My legs span back as I pushed him away and fell victim not to the backwards motion but to the other, whom I hadn't seen. The view of the creviced floor coloured dull trousers and brown belts didn't melt away but where pick-pocketed from my conscious self before I acknowledged it the fine leather of the Auto. That fateful Auto