In our gloomy neighborhood, there is no sound or life except for some neighbors' quarrels, a dog breaking a bone, a cat meowing at its counterpart, Uncle Ramadan and his ilk make the neighborhood a voice, they are not crazy or anything like that, but they are in old age and what they have lived has been enough for them, they talk, smoke shisha, play cards or backgammon and insult each other and the day is over, they have suffered from many conflicts, Gamal's setback, Anwar's war and Hosni's ferry, and what came after it, Uncle Ramadan is sane and aware and understands what he says and hears, but he chose to live crazy.
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