Even sleepwalking the word sounds like a poem. As I ponder when the hallways will end, I'm met by a man with kind eyes and a big grin.
Motorcycles packed with revelers speed by. Carts drawn by mules roll along the roadside. Multistory buildings sparkle with illumination, as if everyone inside were awake.
One man pulls a wagon piled with carpets. Another pushes a cart of food he has for sale; a delicious aroma wafts from it.
But I don't need it. The thrill and anticipation drive me to the hot winds of Cairo, filled with endless excitement.
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