
FROM WHERE HE IS SEATED, at the rooftop of Petley’s Inn, the low, cold breeze ruffles his long, straight blond hair and flushes his puffy cheeks. Down below, on the small concrete pavement at the seafront, hurried pattering footsteps of men running to the mosque to answer the call of the muezzin to prayers. Only […]
from Brittle Paper http://ift.tt/2oCn4K9
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