Abdel Karim Haddad

Abdel Karim Haddad worked for forty years at the poultry plant, his fingers imbued with the scent of bleach that years of retirement still can't scrub away. His small apartment is filled with shoeboxes carrying decades worth of receipts, serving as a testament to his careful calculations against the rising tide of expenses and memories of his long-gone wife. At night, he wanders the halls, not for lack of sleep, but to take in slight shifts in the air, the trace scents of emotions wafting through the corridor.