"Madame," my new best friend Mohammed gushed, sweeping his right hand through the air. His inviting gesture wasn't directed at the back door of a stretch limo though. His left hand grabbed the tattered stirrup of a mule covered with a pink saddle.
A light breeze coming off the mountains through which the Fez River cuts alleviated the day's heat and ruffled Mohammed's immaculate, beige djellaba (loose-fitting robe). On his head perched a baseball cap with the shield rakishly placed over his left ear.
Oh Edith, I thought, you would enj...
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