Mahfouz

IN the alley stands Kirshas coffee shop, its walls decorated with multicolored arabesques, now crumbling, give off strong odors from the medicines of olden times, smells which have now become the spices and folk-cures of today and tomorrow

But in that musty place, there is also rejection of elements of the past, as though desiring to expel the heritage that shapes one within endless backwardness. When a senile old man begins to play his two-string

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