gm everyone. enjoying some morrocan green mint tea to start the day. i am imagining i am a merchant of date wine, making the long trek to baghdad with only the thin saharan horizon as my compass, with only my faithful camel raoul for company
it is dawn, yet the sun already singes the sand. it seems to smoke angrily, perhaps just a trick of the shimmering air. there is a thick quietness, save for the gentle sigh of the land as horned lizards burrow into it, drunk on heat. i sip my tea, and think to myself (in fluent darija) how nice it would be in a small garden awash with temperate breeze, looking into an enchanted slab of glass containing conversant phantoms of my friends, on a phantom-container named after an extinct elephant
shamefully going to cross post this bc it’s funny
