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 gritty reminder of Tangier's underbelly/soul/heart. Here, in this https://rebeccagrlv154466.blogdigy.com/tangier-s-finest-spams-hardsmoke-haze-59345869