/ by Kathryn Ian

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"Hunner an' nine-teen in the shade" the man lazily mumbled, eyes fixed on no one, words summarily swallowed by the winds.  "Storm's a whipping up. Moving in from the west. Be here soon." The man crept animal-like back through the doorway, his voice the texture of sand, bleached white like bone. 
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highway noise and arabic pop remix with wind while heading south and getting the hell out of marrakesh ~ making first steps toward saharan silence