Istanbul  - Hot. Hot. Burning light. Escaping to a book store, I hear Arabic.

“Where are you from?”

“Libya.”

“Why are you here?”

He leans forward and whispers in Arabic.

“I’m from the Qadaffi side.”

“How is life?

“Difficult.”

“Will you go back.”

“No, I don’t think so. And I don’t think you can bring democracy from the sky with airplanes and bomb. There is a reason why there isn’t democracy in the Arab world.”

He goes on about democracy in the Arab world. We shake hands and he wanders off. Another soul wandering through Istanbul with no clear path ahead. Some fleeing from the old Arab world and some awaiting democracy in the new Arab world. He looks worn and ragged.

 

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