A distant minaret peaks above the mayhem.

Nonstop corridor.

Ancient Egyptian goods made in China.

Suddenly I'm just another **** in the crowd.

**** like me have walked these streets for eons.

Architecture. The architecture of the streets. Zig zagging through lanes.

Am I praying or am I under arrest?

Ain't no police in sight.

And ain't nobody white.

Fresh juice! Oh God. Oh God!

Our plight is that of gods and thieves.

Cairo. Marketplace. The way we are looked at here is the way we've always been seen.

Painted on walls.

Tagged in the stalls.

The heights. The falls.

We are everywhere. It's clear.

Gods and thieves.

Nothing has changed.

Absolutely nothing has changed.

Gods and thieves.

One and the same.

What's in a name?

Gods and thieves.

Roots and leaves.

Everything and absolutely nothing for sale. We seek antiquity.

Future antiquity.

A place among the stars.

To attempt to describe all that I see...

stalls upon stalls of goods, a garden of manicured trees, Black and Brown, in every direction, all around.