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  • It was a regular thing anytime I walked down an alleyway in Kabul; kids would sprint right passed me, looking up at the sky the whole time. I would look up and see an array of kites flying higher than I ever had the nerve or skill to do when I was a kid. It got to the point that my friends and I got very curious about this world, so we climbed out the window of our guesthouse, climbed up a few strategically placed wooden ladders, and there we were on the roof, among the kites. On our rooftop like so many others, a group of kids were huddled around a few spools. Some were busy repairing the delicate tissue-material, others kept a close eye on the sky. They waved their arms and turned their bodies like modern dancers performing an interpretive dance. On another rooftop, an older gentleman smiles up at his kite, competition for the kids perhaps. Not far from him, another man checks on his pigeon coop, everything seems in order as the sound of wings flapping and pigeons coo'ing echoes through the evening air.
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