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The carousel revolves and empties and the customs officers smile, lighting my cigarettes while I carried on, waiting. The thrill of arriving without any baggage is frustrating by the fact that it is impossible to be able to give yourself to a place, to be a little blank. Beirut shimmers from where we are and sometimes gives itself entirely in its coming and going. There is something compelling in a place that at once embraces and holds back from us. In this place, banging holes in a piece of paper feels emphatic at least.