The memory dealer of Old Jeddah

The holographic minaret of Al-Shafi’i drilled the Adhan straight into the mastoid bone behind my ear. A neural vibration, not a sound. Maghrib. Above the coral houses of Al-Balad, the Ministry’s drones buzzed back to their hives, glutted on our biometric data. I sat on my synthetic rug in a shop squeezed between a hissing falafel printer and a stall selling ‘Vintage Oud’ — chemically scented motor oil. “Uncle Ibrahim?” The whisper came from the shadows. …