Lover between Bulaq and Dubai, Part 1

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The coachman glared at him disapprovingly, still struggling.
Meanwhile, the wheels of the cart rose slightly on their way to freeing themselves from their stumble.

Many eyes and faces of the neighborhood's inhabitants gathered behind the latticework of the windows overlooking it, following the shouting and braying of the donkey that was about to escape from its trouble.
Among these questioning eyes, Sawsan's eyes appeared.
I stood on a low bench below one of the mashrabiyas of the old house, which was at the forefront of the entrance to the alley with its three floors.
Silent and smiling as usual, her eyes were on the street, the coachman's struggle, and the donkey.
The other woman waits for the “tricycle” that carries her father from his government job, sitting in the cylindrical annex, almost reclining.
Next to the driver, who occupies the other half, standing upright.