The car drove into the town when the first rays of dawn had not yet torn through the dense night mist. The entire coastal area appeared under the headlights like an old photograph yellowed by the years.
There were no closely packed high-rise buildings like in St. Lawrence, nor were there dazzling lights dyeing the streets until two or three in the morning. This town was quiet and old, with cracked concrete roads, yin-yang roof tiles covered in moss, and rows of willow trees standing perfectly still in the early wind.
The air here was thick with the scent of forgotten time. It seemed the town had once possessed a bustling past, but then people left, leaving behind dilapidated communal houses, tightly shut grocery stores, and faded signboards whose words could no longer be read.
