No god but God

Description

12 PM, AND FIVE hours to Marrakech. I have consistently had

inconvenience resting on trains. There is something in particular about the unwavering

beat and murmur of the wheels as they turn over the tracks that consistently

keeps me wakeful. It resembles an inaccessible tune that is too boisterous to even think about ignoring.

Not even the murkiness that immerses the compartments around evening time

appears to help. It is more regrettable around evening time, when the stars are the main lights

obvious in the tremendous, quieted desert zooming by my window.

This is a deplorable idiosyncrasy, in light of the fact that the most ideal approach to go by

train through Morocco is sleeping. The trains are overwhelmed with unlawful

fake aides, who move from the lodge to lodge looking for voyagers with

whom to share their suggestions for the best eateries, the

least expensive lodgings, the cleanest ladies.