At midday in summer, the sea breeze rolled the heat wave along as it swept over the low, cluttered rooftops of the East Capital Old Port District.
Down toward the harbor, gantry cranes rose and dipped under the scorching sun, and in the distance, cargo ships let out deep, muffled whistles.
Among this stretch of old, mottled brick houses, the six-story gray-and-white building at New Port Alley No. 8 stood out strikingly.
On the sixth-floor open-air terrace, blooming bougainvillea climbed along the carved iron railings, spreading wildly.
Great cascades of purple-red flowers swayed in the wind like hanging silk.
Beside them, several dwarf roses and carnations were in full blossom as well, releasing a rich, sweet fragrance.
At this moment, a slim, graceful figure was squatting in front of two pots of camellias.
She wore a sunhat, a light blue cotton-linen short-sleeved shirt faded from washing, and a clean dustproof apron tied around her waist.
