MOYO TRAMPED DOWN the dusty sidewalk of the two-lane highway. The evening sky was cool but blaring honks from sweeping past cars and motorcycles, added to the loud noises from people milling the surrounding streets and in nearby houses, made the atmosphere feel hot—and exhausting.
She was tired.
Weary would be a better word, she thought absently, raising a hand to rub the back of her neck. Her feet ached inside the black flat ballet-like pumps. She wished she could slip them out and just massage them. Better than that, she wished she could flag down a bike, climb on top and have herself driven home like royalty.