REFLECTIONS FROM MARRAKECH
[a 🧵 1: continued in the comments]
The room fills with smoke. The night, already late …or early, 3:30am to be exact, is slipping into the background. Open packets of chips and snacks are strewn across the table. The room smells of whiskey, sweat, smoke and now, weed.
Lounging and sprawling across the chairs and sofas are 4 Moroccans and me, an Australian. I pinch myself. Not because this is necessarily an incredible experience, nothing about this naturally would be.