The overloaded transport (small pick-up) carries fresh fruit to several markets. Carefully weaving unmarked roads and horn blasted right-of-ways. There are more vehicles than road space and the scratches on the sides of vehicles carry a rainbow history of mergers. In the parking lot in the shadow of the pyramid rest a black bike and a black car. Dusted with icing sugar fine sand.
The police patrols do very little to calm the situation. The voices of disagreeing drivers are louder than all the highway horns. The wall supports a wailing mother pleading her case.
At every corner, entrance and shop hucksters offer taxi service, carriage service or simple foot service. Crossing six lanes of never pausing traffic is like playing thread the needle in real time. The horse drawn carriages cast a shadow of calm over the roadway, but they too leave clouds of dust as we try walking along wallways. Transportation has emerged from the flight into Egypt to the present with all the excitement of slavery and escape.