This was playing from three different balconies on the first warm night. Nobody planned it, which made it feel like a promise.
The first warm evening arrived all at once. Windows opened, chairs moved onto balconies, and the street remembered how to linger.
Habibi floated down from somewhere above me. Then another speaker joined from across the road, a few seconds behind. By the third balcony, the whole block had become an accidental round.
Music can belong to a person, but sometimes a city borrows it for an evening.
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