The mist clouded the garden as the old man stepped into the black limousine.
A hooded figure sat in the drivers seat. ‘I’m ready.’ The old man said as the car glided into the mist.
It was a short ride to the old part of town.
The old man stepped out; the hooded figure pointed a bony finger in the direction he was to follow.
He was not surprised the street was busy.
He joined the end of the queue.
Sigh, he realised his journey was over.
Above him a sign flashed.
The Street of Ramps, always open, never closed.