The sun is setting in Quedlinburg as I step out of my hotel in search of an ATM and food. The ATM is easy. I have a clearly marked map and even in the fading light, the streets are easy to follow.
I turn toward where I think the city center is an start walking, figuring I find somewhere to eat along the way. It’s a tiny town after all.
A shouting, laugh conglomeration of teenagers ambles down the street. Two ride rattling skateboards on the sidewalk.
A man sags past alone and lonely.
Then, a family of three generations, grand parents, youths, children rolling forward in strollers.
Other than these few encounters, the streets are quiet. Empty. The cobblestone are black and shiny with reflected streetlights. I am beginning to think every shop and restaurant is closed in the entire tiny town, when the image of Frida Kahlo in a window stops me. I adore Frida and feel a warm glow at the sight of her.
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