If Beirut is this severed, I’m fretful about what it would be like to walk in the streets of Damascus again. Beirut with it’s crooked charm, feels as intimate as a cul-de-sac and as experiential as a metropole. Beirut tempts those with no skin in the pain with it’s little fables of familiarity. For it’s… Continue reading No Skin in the Pain
maia malas 