Le P'tit

The evening is like a note in your pocket – greasy, warm and slightly sticky. Two hundred in a diora sit next to a street recharge; the world is decided on street corners, where dirhams are discussed as casually as the weather. To do something big here means not coming back, and this feeling hangs in the air like the smell of cigarettes and petrol.

Trust is extinct, leaving only mirrored distrust: even reflections arouse suspicion. The seasons change, but the pattern remains the same - all four seasons turn into the same grey circle, where another price hike and four bullets are the usual statistics. The subtle humour of survival - in jokes about ‘not for friendship’ and in the instruction ‘be quiet, listen’ - saves far less than it seems.