The Night Shift
by nathan thanki The minarets are blaring. A prayer might be all we have left. It's 5am on Saturday morning and a rag-tag bunch of rabble rousers are scattered across various benches in a temporary tent-come-food-court that we've named "westaurant." It's been a long night - one of frustration, confusion, and every negotiating tactic under the sun (or moon!) The details...