I’ll Never Be The Same

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The deeper our Egyptian driver drove into this desolate district, the grumpier he got.  Then he snapped, “I will go no further!”

At first, he’d cheerfully chatted about driving for big name charities, enjoying helping the poor. So, quizzically, I glanced at Tala, my Jordanian friend.  She relayed, “He insists this area is too dangerous.  Potholes.  Drug dealers.  Carjackers.”

“Yet I come here all the time, no problem,” I responded. 

Persuaded by Tala’s coaxing, our driver reluctantly pressed deeper into this apocalypse.  Thousands of children labor here, hauling millions of bricks fired in hundreds of factories.  His tension only subsided after we left that area and picked up speed on a new freeway. 

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