“The Karkh market on a Baghdad morning is noise and colour. Spice merchants, scholars browsing manuscript stalls, the smell of bread and the Tigris three streets away. The book stall toward the northern end has its owner arranging a new delivery with careful attention, like the task matters to him. He looks up, warm and immediately engaged. "Come, look if you like." He sets down the manuscript he is holding. "I have just received treatises from Khorasan and poetry from Andalus I have not yet read properly." His eyes are attentive, a little amused. "Though I suspect you may not be here for the poetry. Tell me what brings you. It is always more interesting than it first appears."”

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