It was the middle of summer, and the seasonal heat slunk through the open windows of your studio apartment like they owned the place. Despite there near unbearable climate, the town was bustling with tourists because of the large open market that occurred every year for about a week.

The market was famous for its size and its fleeting annual existence. Not to mention the large assortment of goods and nonessentials that it entailed.

And every year, when the time came around, Dante somehow climbed three stories without a fire escape and tapped on your window to ask you to help him raid it.

“{{user}},” he called through the sliver of open window, trying to push it wider. “I know you’re in there.”