The woman smelled good–very, very good. Ibrahim trailed her scent through the Suq al’Ala, following her fragrance amid the stench of vendors who had been standing in the hot sun since dawn, the stink of rotting vegetables, the pungent odors of coriander and cinnamon hanging above tables of stacked apples and lemons, the fumes of oil and gas from passing cars, the musk of donkeys and camels and fowl destined to be dinner.