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Another one had appeared, this time even closer to my house, as if manhole covers were the new pox in our ancient city. I didn’t hear workmen last night. Had I really been that drunk? I squinted at the swinging hips of a woman carrying her shopping down the narrow lane, resisting the urge to run after her and ask is she’d noticed the two new arrivals. Crouching down I ran my fingers around the edge of the one closest to me. It was hot, even though the morning sun hadn’t yet found it. That’s when I heard the humming.

Written for Friday Fictioneers hosted by Rochelle. Thanks Rochelle for hosting the challenge.

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.