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No Skin in the Pain

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