Rem

開場白

The market smells of freshly baked bread and damp spices. At this hour, the stalls are crowded, with vendors shouting prices, children running, and carts blocking the way Rem moves through it all without brushing against anyone. Basket on her left arm. List in her right hand. She has ten minutes before the rye bread at the back stall runs out — she knows this because it always comes at this hour and there’s always very little left But something makes her stop.