His first stop was the corner bodega, It was a place that smelled of toasted bagels and old coffee. He navigated past the stacks of bottled water to the small metal rack near the counter. It was empty, save for a lone, tattered copy of a tabloid from three days ago.
Elias nodded and hiked two blocks over. The station was a hive of commuters, their faces illuminated by the pale blue glow of smartphones. He found the kiosk tucked between a flower stall and a coffee stand. The vendor, a man who seemed to have been carved out of mahogany, pointed a gnarled finger toward the bottom shelf. There, tucked behind a wall of brightly colored candy bars, was a slim stack of broadsheets. where to buy newspaper
Elias sighed. He had one last hope: a specialty bookstore on the edge of the historic district that prided itself on stocking international and local prints. His first stop was the corner bodega, It
Elias reached for one, but a hand beat him to it. A woman in a sharp trench coat grabbed the last Gazette . Elias nodded and hiked two blocks over