The cobbled streets leading away from the harbour twisted and coiled like brambles. A left turn, then another, and another, and another, and rather than being back where they started, they would find themselves in an alcove off a passageway off an alley off a lane. “In here,” she would say, or “What’s down this way?” he would say, and they would find themselves in stores selling sugared candies in the perfect hand-crafted shapes of flowers, or delis stocking olives of every varied shade and hue. Soon their only sense of direction came from the smell of salt air or the excited murmur of people from the direction of the harbour, though that could have been the anchovies drying in parade formation on a balcony, or the pet store with parrots in cages covered with dark velvet hanging from every beam.