The air teems with an earthy musk. He follows the scent down a one-way lane that seems less a road than a corridor of green. It's dark and wet, packed-in on all sides. He cuts the engine and coasts, snail-silent. Some houses are sunken into the ground, which reminds Pietro of the Edson Adams vault.
Headlights flood the road from the rear.
He steers onto a walkway to let the car pass. The brick wall at his side leans into the shrubs. The chimney next door has detached from its base. It's about to dive into the valley. So close he could hug it.