An Open Letter to the Old Lady Coughing Next Door:
Please do not die. I know that I am American and you are Moroccan and we do not talk much so I will make my request short and easy to understand. I do not want to bend social moors and sit down next to you on your stoop as the sun goes down, but I have grown to respect you during the last year we have been neighbors. You have seen such changes in your day, and now are left holding together a traditional life in the new house your son Braheim built for you. I am new to the neighborhood, I do not yet have your confidence and respect. I am rather doubtful of ever breaking down some of these barriers between us, but that does not make my wish any less.
I can hear you each night, as I lay in my garden and you in yours. The wall is only 9 feet high, I listen to your Al-Jazerra news and you listen to my Jay-Z. I know that each night, you wake up coughing spitting choking and I worry about you. Please do not die.