He couldn’t have been more than 19. His clothes were cheap and his sparse yet unshaven facial hair was indistinguishable from the dirt on his cheeks. He was with another kid on the other side of a kiosk and couldn’t see that I was listening.
As the days pass, Egyptians seem more and more relaxed, and there is an emerging hope that displays itself in voices less strident, faces less stressed, more smiling, despite the stifling heat. Perhaps the storms of the Arab Spring have finished and now will come the flowering.