There was a shop selling antiques and, beside it, another that had a full window display of knives and scissors. Trotti took the small path between the two shops where the smell of urine and dirt assailed his nostrils. He found himself in a dusty courtyard. A Japanese van, used for transporting the antiques, filled most of the restricted space.
There was a bicycle without a saddle leaning against the wall; a sign on the wall for the local section of Amnesty International.