This purple-blue-yellow evening finds me trying to decipher a Kabbani poem with the help of Hans Wehr, and I am transported to more than a decade ago, when I had not heard of the name Kabbani or Wehr, and when, in a dark and dingy cafe in Istanbul someone passes me 'To Beirut'.
Nothing is over, ever
This purple-blue-yellow Amman evening finds me running from one Abraham to another. Yet again.
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