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 tangy reminder of Tangier's underbelly/soul/heart. Here, in this https://karimjjxo386235.aboutyoublog.com/46384535/tangier-s-treasures-spams-hazy-smokes