Robbie could see Santos, the receptionist at the Gauri Shankar Guesthouse, from the rickshaw as he paid the driver. He glanced up and down the street. A day like any other on Freak Street. Tourists were milling around the stalls, two shopkeepers sat outside in the afternoon sun sharing a plate of momo, steamed Tibetan-style ravioli filled with buffalo meat. A pigeon flew from the passageway that led to the guesthouse’s reception and rose into the blue sky. Robbie’s eyes followed its course, the bird rising almost straight up from the narrow shadows of the street. Quite suddenly he felt a terrible loneliness. She was an incredible woman. She would be there. His eyes met with Santos. There was no smile in the boy’s expression. He rushed inside.
“Namaste, Santos.”
“Namaskar, Robbie, Maria n
