G HAD TO PUSH PAST people meandering on the road like it was freaking Hyde Park; not to mention squeezing between mules on alleys that in some places were less than a metre wide.
His lungs were on fire. His arms strained with the weight of the Algerian. His legs gradually started to lose power. Then, by some miracle, they were in Central Square, the Grand Socco.
He stopped, rested his back against the wall to catch his breath. There were many curious people about as he put the Algerian down. Practically hugging the wall, trying to ignore the furtive glances cast their way, they walked a little further down to an isolated corner.
He rested the Algerian against the wall and removed his blood-stained clothes, thanking Almighty God that the maroon fabric was the same colour as blood.
He co
