Six o’clock in damned time, nothing till now shows that today will different than the others, the sun will throw the quilt aside and will rise on us soon, Khawla too will throw her pajamas aside and where that tight yellow pants that the café goers like, and the white shirt from which two stunning nipples overlook making the goers’ mouths water, Rid is one week away and must seek any mean to earn their pockets, peacock galt at a time, and Fifi Abdo’s laugh at other times, winking, whispering and trickery …
Let’s leave Khwala aside and wake up Ziad, he wasn't asleep anyway just
his mind was numb, he can't think of anything now but his morning cigarette,
for even if he was smoking all night long the 7 am cigarette is always a must,
it helps him face what had last of the day before it he takes a sniff of a
snus/snuff made in Fez to surprise the lazily asleep cells inside of his skull,
a piece of a plain loaf and a cup of tea without sugar then jogs to the café to
be the first one Khawla with flirt with, just then he can smoke his precious
cigarette. Khawla’s mood today is bad because her luck pants had been torn
apart in a spot that can't be fixed, so she just her pale black pants that make
her butt look like five liters of Harira soup in a plastic bag, she took a
glimpse of Ziad from far away, asked forgiveness from Allah then spat: a face I
needn't see, fuck! He passed by her without greeting her, normally he doesn't
talk till after he smokes his blessed cigarette, he took his spot in a corner
that allows him to watch everyone, especially Khawla’s butt, she had made his
coffee without asking for it, she spat in it and presented it to him without
smiling, he knew well that she spits in his coffee every day but he drinks it
in front of her on purpose to disgust her.
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