The sharqi blew the streets of Tangier and Tetouan clean. So we climbed into a grand taxi and blew ourselves away too. One hour of winding Rifian roads later, we found the sun hanging over a city washed with blue. Joni describes the way I feel about Chefchaouen best: Ink on a Pen/Underneath the Skin/An Empty Space to Fill In.
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Words for Play: Morocco 