Cassie pulled on the white gloves kept for the consultation of precious document and gently got out the little batch holding the number « 74.3 ».
« They are pictures of the city ! » marveled Cassie looking at the keys.
I observed it as well. I knew these places. I went everywhere, looking for my friend. Of course, they had changed a lot. Roads replaced tramways and denims ousted women from this epoch pretty dresses.
However I didn’t have any doubt.
Every picture depicted an older version of the places where I had already been in my search for Hannah.
I had been in this café to ask the barman whether he knew a young woman named Hannah Reeves.
To children on this place I had described her clearly recognizable obsidian hair.
I had been in this theater with the hope to see her coming up on the stage.
I had looked for her among the statues of this museum.