It’s an emotional parting from Dahab. Though he’s only been out of bed for two days, Paul’s managed to endear himself to much of the town’s workforce. There’s Khalid, the young waiter from the Chill Out Café, who pats his chest warmly, over and over, intoning the word inshallah that they might meet again. There’s the young artist who makes his Technicolor paintings of fiery sunsets and camel silhouettes, his voice swollen with gratitude over the piece Paul’s picked up for E£30 - just under six US bucks. There’s the owner of the pharmacy next-door to the hostel: in just two days, he’s sold Paul enough Band-Aids, gauze pads, lotions and creams to outfit New York Presbyterian. He hopes that Paul can return to Dahab someday soon, his bloody foot limping into the pharmacy with
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