On the morning of May 6, I walked the dust-choked path to al-Sham Café — a café only in name. It’s just a sagging tent like the one I sleep in. Something no one would ever choose, unless life gave them no choice. The air still stank of fear. Ash floated in the breeze, and the sky hung low, gray and heavy with the ghosts of uncertainty. Then I heard it: “Abood.” Abood. Only my loved ones…
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