Jack was navigating byzantine alleys of historic medina in Casablanca (Morocco). Amidst surrounding cacophony, Hassan from a sidewalk café grabbed him offering the “best kebab anywhere”. Jack bit the bullet, grabbed a red plastic-chair, and ordered a mixed-platter. Nearby, a seated gentleman, face obscured by brim of his hat, was writing on a notepad.
Jack: Who’s he, a poet, a painter?
Hassan: A leftover spy.
Jack: What?
Hassan: Ever seen Bergman – Bogart’s Casablanca? This area was full of spies. But, nobody told him the war’s end.
Jack snooped from back. The gentleman finished sketching the corner building, labeling “Enemy Post”.
Jack: Who’s he, a poet, a painter?
Hassan: A leftover spy.
Jack: What?
Hassan: Ever seen Bergman – Bogart’s Casablanca? This area was full of spies. But, nobody told him the war’s end.
Jack snooped from back. The gentleman finished sketching the corner building, labeling “Enemy Post”.
