BERBER VODKA
The sky was a Fanta commercial, the dunes: pink waves, the palm trees: cardboard cutout silhouettes. From my perch on the roof of the kasbah in the Moroccan desert, I took a long pull of my drink. The ice clinked, the clear liquid sparkled, I felt its chilly passage down my throat and I gagged, realising Ahmed had been cruel enough to serve me neat, unadulterated water.
Ahmed had no doubt seen countless
