She had lived in the slum for a couple of months. A dot on the map of Merolas.
Abia knew its streets like the back of her hand. She had learnt its land and the ways of it’s people. Mainly because of Tariq. Because She would have gone anywhere with him, and because he knew everywhere to go.
When she lived in purple corner (that was normally where newcomers settled, on the outskirts it was less daunting by name and nature) Tariq lived on Arco Iris (Rainbow), which sounded like a dream to Abia.
After convincing her mother that it was closer to the market, caught more heat and sunlight during the hours they were awake, and was just enough west of the wind that blew in gusts from the city, they packed up their possessions and carted their salvaged home (if you could call it that) in bits to the block of multi-color.
Rainbow was central but it homed a backstreet all the way to the city edge. The rat run was a store for secrets.
Within a week she had learned which roofs to climb for a birds eye view, which shrubs to avoid because although they looked smooth on the outside, they had tiny little thorns that would jab at your fingers should you touch them. Sometimes her neighbors would ask her to run errands, usually in the morning when they knew she would wake early. She would appeared with the sunrise, take their orders and seize her opportunity. A young woman in the streets without reason to accompany her was Spanish for trouble. With one she could exercise freedom. She knew where to get the cheapest cloth, even the silky satin kind coveted by all Merolas women. (Sometimes Mr Avedias would get her items especially from the cita. Knowing not all her neighbors would approve, Abia usually handed them over without words, but they rarely asked, so she rarely had to lie.
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