Rooftop, the minute before sunset. The cannon from the Koutoubia. Then the spoons — every house, all at once, metal on ceramic. The whole derb smells of harira for thirty seconds. Eleven Ramadans and I still come up here for it.
a journal from a house in the medina
Rooftop, the minute before sunset. The cannon from the Koutoubia. Then the spoons — every house, all at once, metal on ceramic. The whole derb smells of harira for thirty seconds. Eleven Ramadans and I still come up here for it.