Ghostwriter

an island colony, the sunshine beating down oppressively on the pavement and the starched linen suits, the streetlights and signage flooding the night, except in the twisting alleyways. long ago this place had its own culture, its own myths and gods, but now it has candy-colored vehicles and international banking. two tourists, one chasing the other. they're the type you don't want to take your eyes off of — if you ever even wanted to.