I knocked on the large wooden door, the red sign above me banging in the wind.
A greasy man ran his fingers across his chin and eyed me wearily.
He cut me off, indicating with raised hand to say no more.
He pointed around the side of the restaurant.
Following the cracked concrete path, I edged around drums of oil and pots of paint.
She raised her clever opal eyes to me.
“You have come to the right place.”