life in the banlieue is harsh. it shaped my lovely mourad.
sometimes he won't recognise me
on the street and pass me by all drigh (drunk and high). sometimes he will knock on my door and ask for chai. he loves my chai because I spice it up with cardamom and mint leaves. mourad is a fighter. but fighters need rest too like everyone else. when i ask him if he gets enough he turns his head or tells a joke. mourad is my
first love. i want mourad to be my last love. lovely mourad.