Dusk was nearing as the fishing boats began to come in. They crowded in next to each other like everything in the city. The colorful buildings that gazed down at the water seemed to be sitting almost on top of each other, their bright oranges and pastel blues overlapping under the setting sun. Tiny fish (for only the smallest ones dared come this close to shore) flipped in and out of the water. A few swam daringly through the ropes of the anchored boats. From far away they looked only like flashing specks of light, dancing on the deep green water. As the sun finally set, a warm, deep sound arose from the bells in the church steeple. It was dark now, and the time had come for a full meal and some rest. Tomorrow morning the sun would rise anew, and another day's work would begin.
I have never been to Riomaggiore, let alone to this fishing village I am imagining. The descriptions are in no way meant to imply that this is what life in Riomaggiore or Italy is like- they are merely what sprung into my imagination based on this picture, which I found here.
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