You spot an outside staircase that leads from a backyard connected to the alley to a low, flat-roofed building beyond, and you hurried up to roof level. The Old Town spreads out before you, intoxicating and magnetic, a nebulous hive of commerce and socialization. Thousands of businesses are closed in the back rooms of cramped commercial establishments, a thousand flirtatious glances exchanged on the terraces of cafes in the shade of fragrant citrus trees, while tourists, street vendors and holy men wander elaborately in the streets.
And above all, unnoticed, you are. Or at least for a short period.
You can only make it a few blocks down this path before you feel your muscles begin to ache and tremble. And then, when trying to make a quick jump down a narrow alley occupied by a crowded covered bazaar, disaster strikes.
You didn't time the launch and your foot hit the edge of the roof precariously before slipping. The rest of you follow. You feel a sharp pain as your staggering body crashes into the corrugated iron roof of the bazaar. To the sighs and squeals of the bewildered shoppers below, you crash and land hard on top of a stall full of sweets and treats. The table collapses, the treats spill onto the floor, and the shopkeeper yells at you angrily.
You struggle to get up, but it's too late. The commotion you caused attracted the attention of two nearby soldiers, who have already identified you. They start to advance menacingly towards you.