A haze hangs low over the kasbah, thick with the scent of/and/from burning rubbish. It clings to your clothes, your hair/the walls/your throat, a smoky reminder of Tangier's underbelly/soul/heart. Here, in this https://andrewjfih359011.blog-gold.com/52023359/tangier-s-treasures-spams-hazy-smokes