Marouan

I can still picture him clearly. Every morning, no matter the weather, Patrick rode his old bicycle down the street before dawn. Snow, rain, freezing air—it never stopped him. He wore layers that didn’t quite match the season and carried a worn canvas bag filled with newspapers. He was in his seventies, steady but slow, … Read more

I can still picture him clearly. Every morning, no matter the weather, Patrick rode his old bicycle down the street before dawn. Snow, rain, freezing air—it never stopped him. He wore layers that didn’t quite match the season and carried a worn canvas bag filled with newspapers. He was in his seventies, steady but slow, … Read more

I can still picture him clearly. Every morning, no matter the weather, Patrick rode his old bicycle down the street before dawn. Snow, rain, freezing air—it never stopped him. He wore layers that didn’t quite match the season and carried a worn canvas bag filled with newspapers. He was in his seventies, steady but slow, … Read more

I can still picture him clearly. Every morning, no matter the weather, Patrick rode his old bicycle down the street before dawn. Snow, rain, freezing air—it never stopped him. He wore layers that didn’t quite match the season and carried a worn canvas bag filled with newspapers. He was in his seventies, steady but slow, … Read more

I can still picture him clearly. Every morning, no matter the weather, Patrick rode his old bicycle down the street before dawn. Snow, rain, freezing air—it never stopped him. He wore layers that didn’t quite match the season and carried a worn canvas bag filled with newspapers. He was in his seventies, steady but slow, … Read more

I can still picture him clearly. Every morning, no matter the weather, Patrick rode his old bicycle down the street before dawn. Snow, rain, freezing air—it never stopped him. He wore layers that didn’t quite match the season and carried a worn canvas bag filled with newspapers. He was in his seventies, steady but slow, … Read more

I can still picture him clearly. Every morning, no matter the weather, Patrick rode his old bicycle down the street before dawn. Snow, rain, freezing air—it never stopped him. He wore layers that didn’t quite match the season and carried a worn canvas bag filled with newspapers. He was in his seventies, steady but slow, … Read more

I can still picture him clearly. Every morning, no matter the weather, Patrick rode his old bicycle down the street before dawn. Snow, rain, freezing air—it never stopped him. He wore layers that didn’t quite match the season and carried a worn canvas bag filled with newspapers. He was in his seventies, steady but slow, … Read more

I can still picture him clearly. Every morning, no matter the weather, Patrick rode his old bicycle down the street before dawn. Snow, rain, freezing air—it never stopped him. He wore layers that didn’t quite match the season and carried a worn canvas bag filled with newspapers. He was in his seventies, steady but slow, … Read more

I can still picture him clearly. Every morning, no matter the weather, Patrick rode his old bicycle down the street before dawn. Snow, rain, freezing air—it never stopped him. He wore layers that didn’t quite match the season and carried a worn canvas bag filled with newspapers. He was in his seventies, steady but slow, … Read more