Once I met a man who found his happiness. He lived in Morocco. I think he was originally from Saudi Arabia. He was a Muslim alright, but didn't look like one. The man had his own mind and didn't need to follow someone's else's ideas. And religion is someone's else idea.
The man was tall, handsome and very strong. He spoke to people in a warm voice. When he talked, he always touched me with his hands. Always reaching out to me. I didn't like it. I don't like people touching me and I loathe when man do that. There is only one reason why man do it to me. But then I noticed that while talking this man was touching Tomas too. I asked Tom what he thought about it. Tom said he disliked to be touched in this manner as well, but he too noticed that the man touched everyone while talking. Then I felt alright.
But this is not what I wanted to tell you about the young Arab.
