Central Plaza

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Mika turned her attention from the reluctantly obedient felines toward a familiar sign now visible at the far end of the plaza. Many years ago, long before she was born, it was not unlike the neighboring stalls with their ramshackle appearance and canvas ceilings, but many years of success had transformed it into something so much more. It had become a permanent fixture on the plaza.

More than that, it was her family home.

“Try our Zinjabar Chow Brochette!” her mother’s voice rang out deep and authoritative. She walked the streets outside the shop, her intentionally heavy footfalls striking the hard brick with an audible click loud enough to draw attention with every step, and with it, more customers. And if that was not enough, her voice, even when calm, could easily drown out all others. Her height certainly made all this much easier.

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