“If you ask me,” I run my palm down my stubble, “this looks like a shithole. I don’t think it would be too safe for you to walk around here after dark.”
I look down at her, she looks up at me, her eyes are glittering as the light of the mobile shines on her face speaking of worry. I have no idea what goes on in her mind as we stand here in this goddamn hole, but she closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and while keeping her eyes closed, she knocks on the door.
An elderly woman wearing a shabby stola opens the door ajar, and eyes us with suspicion.
“Who are you looking for?” she says curtly.
I think it better to draw back a little, as the old woman might have more trust for Amina than me.
“I’m here to look at the apartment for rent. My name is Amina al… Stanley,” her tongue slips, not
