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Every News is a Bang

I don't know, what attracts me to the quince fruit? For those who do not know it, it is a yellow fruit, not soft to the touch, and oval in shape, like the American rugby ball, except that it has bulges and bumps, but its taste is a mixture of apple sugar and the bitterness of lupine.

If you want to check the hardness of your teeth, gnaw on them without cutting them, and be near your dentist, and take the bitten quince with you; To look for your front teeth inside them, they are very hard, my hands often hurt me from cutting them, although I use a knife to cut them and take out their nuclei, but this strange mixture I like very much, and despite my love for the blond sugary dates with a glass of butter and milk, it tempts me more. In our summer house located in the old neighborhoods of Damascus, where the buildings line up and the narrow streets, if someone spoke at the bottom, we hear him clearly at the top, early morning sellers come to us, and we hear the crackling of horseshoes or a mule in those neighborhoods, as he pulls his cart full of goods, but that crackling Don't stop me from getting back to sleep a bit. As for the one who vaporizes my attempts, and wakes up my dreams in a good morning sleep, it is the sound that follows the sound of animals stopping, when the seller shouts for his goods like a trumpet in my ear. The sellers all share the fact that their voices are loud, but their goals by informing the people of the neighborhood of their arrival are achieved. Soon baskets come to them from the top with a rope hanging with money, and the whole neighborhood hears the dialogue and the price details, or when the people come down to choose. Their cries are many and varied. This one sells eggplant, and shouts: Black, oh, eggplant, because its blackness is a sign of its quality, and bananas, oh zucchini. As for the quince seller, he says: “Oh, quince,” meaning that it is suitable for the work of the pilgrim, as the quince is the jam. The Syrian revolution began, and the “ISIS” snake emerged, and we were cut off from our summer house and those cries ceased from my ears, and I kept following the news of a country dear to my heart. the land and the expulsion of his family by sound and image, and this is a hungry old man, and this is a bereaved mother, and that has lost his seven children. For five years, I have been biting a quince with the news bulletin about Syria.

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