The reader Mahmoud Hamdoun writes .. flashiness colors
I see the hour of my hand and her grandmother is approaching the fifth, the differences between Morocco and the time of the dawn of the dawn, I do not know if the time of day dying in the last moments or the dawn of the day of Walid, his first steps.
In the long run there are different degrees of white or black, so it seems to be a dream, and I believe that sleep is free of the glamor of colors, where life settles on its truth without falsification but .. What you mean is that I sleep! Does the sleeper have awareness of his sleep? Did he know that he was dreaming?
I woke up to a poke, an old woman who wanted to cross the street, walking without a stick, with a lustrous, sharp tongue. She started to say: Do not stand like your position except two, a thief lurking or a lurking person.
I replied, laughing: Maybe I'm a third person.
No third of whom I mentioned, what you have!
I whispered to her as people began to fall from every direction: perhaps he was lost, not knowing where he was going.
She was clutching my left wrists very badly and did not fit her appearance, she replied cautiously: now only those who want to misguide are intent on mischief.
I asked her to steer her away from the harsh words: Are you a resident of the place?
I felt a poke of my hand, her look and if her fingernails emerged as claws of a lioness about to pounce on her prey, her gap resulted in a smile I do not know where I saw it before, then …..
I woke up again on the poke with my shoulder from the back, and the voice said with extreme saying: we got another line, did not pay the "fare" yet.
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