Manolo Blahniks are not made for running
By Pablo Libedinsky “You don’t remember me, but I remember you,” the man said to Rosemary as he approached her table. She lifted her blue eyes from the laptop, took a sip of coffee and looked at him arching her eyebrows. “No. I really don’t remember you. What’s your name?” “Do you mind if I sit?” She hesitated. It could be dangerous but then he looked harmless and she knew how to take…













