As late afternoon turned into early evening, Nathan began to make his way home.  He smelled like Tangiers, musty, a hint of curry, covered in dust.  He looked at his white tennis shoes, now a shade of brown.  This was exactly why he’d planned on returning today, he didn’t like dust, or dirt, or poverty, or the smells that now latched themselves onto his clothes, shoes, body.  He could feel the grit of the city, in his hair, scratchy against his five o’clock shadow, even in his mouth.  Disgusting, he disgusted himself.  As he entered the hotel, he heard his name.  Nathan.  He’d heard it twice, before it occurred to him to turn around.

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