خلخال

The air conditioned office was shaking at a two seconds interval every time the old brown York air conditioner burped some cool air. Mubarak's picture was on the wall behind the desk. He looked like a teenager compared to the figure sitting in the dark chocolate brown leather armchair. The whole room was dressed in this shade which grotesquely matched the old York dripping water through an orange hose into a lime green bucket. Ghali lit a cigarette – Gauloises – and leaned forward while staring into the face hovering in midair between cap and collar. He opened his thin lips to say something but then changed his mind. No, he thought, asking for whisky is not a very smart move. He'd already said he didn’t want anything to drink. "Well, Mr. Ghali…" "Please General Fangary, there's no need for these formalities. You can call me Mr. Waguih." "Mr. Waguih" "I'm all ears General." "You do know why you're here" ...