Eleven a.m. and the temperature in the city has already risen to 31C. Dora glances at the display on top of a corporate building showing time and temperature. She sighs at the sight of the flashing figures and treads on an escalator leading down into an underpass. She is immediately taken aback by the pungent smell of vomit and urine. She regrets taking that route but continues regardless through the dim underground corridors. She is relieved when she emerges on the other side of the road.
It wasn’t always like that. She remembers the place as it was a few years ago, vibrant with life. Kiosks and cafes were scattered among various shops selling clothes, footwear and all kind of glittery stuff. People would walk in and out of shops with or without shopping bags, stopping for refreshments or buying lottery tickets in hope of grasping their share of luck.
But luck has abandoned this place. The sprouting shopping malls on the outskirts of the city claimed their toll. Shops closed one by one, moving to more favourable locations or quitting business altogether.
She remembers first seeing the homeless taking over the place. One late autumn evening she noticed a lump of rugs in a remote corner next to a vacant shop window. She wouldn’t have paid attention had the lump not moved and she was hit by the smell of piss and alcohol fumes. The realisation appalled her and she left the place as fast as she could. Once outside, she examined her feelings. Disgust. Fear. Anger. Pity. Guilt. She didn’t know what to make of these feelings but they were there alright, stuck in her mind. She didn’t want to explore any further, not at that point. And she has kept well away from the place. Until today.
She looks at her wrist watch. A gift from her ex husband, one of the few she has kept. But there's no time for memories. She doesn't want to be late. She has put too much effort into this project to allow anything to go wrong. That job must be hers or else... The images from the underpass flash in front of her eyes.
