Our house was a house with a historical identity. I remember sleeping by the window. Now from this side of us there used to be a clattering sound, the sound of clogs, clatter, clatter, clatter, clatter... It stops in front of our street door, then turns out, clatter, clatter, clatter, goes to the right. He walks on stone. After that, he goes to the side of the Şerbetçi Hallis, again click, click, click... The sound stops there. There were these saints. I sat in that garden one day, I listened so hard, I wanted to listen to the sound of that clog.