Arm in arm, the two of them walked down less crowded streets, the constant sensorial nausea of the pubs now far less present, and allowing for the ethereal beauty of the moonlit night to seep in. Maybe all those ales had started taking effect, for it was not a common occurrence for Michael to see any form of beauty to the streets of Sierra Leone. Yet under the silvery light of the full moon, everything carried a special glint. Broken glass shone like perfectly polished blades of silver; puddles of dirty water reflected the world above as a ghostly reflection of itself, dazzled by the silvery warmth of the orb reigning over it; loose cobblestones on the poorly-kept street, bathed in its own eerie gleam, looked as the very bridge to the realm of the gods.
Yet nothing shone more than his eye
