It’s the second to last to prayer of the day, and the moon is clear in a cloudless, gray-tinted sky. I am standing on the rooftop of a road. The air is cold and motionless.
Off to my left, smoke is rising from the dinner prep downstairs. The windless air doesn’t (soak) up the scent of the smoke. The minaret is so close that I can see the stairs leading up to the top.
Time seems to stop for two short minutes as a man’s voice marks a prayer time over speakers. As soon as the call ends, the red light at the top of the minaret disappears.