It’s a cold, damp March night in Malmö, Sweden, but Ramy Essam props open the balcony door to his third-floor apartment to let a little of the outside in. “I like to hear the street,” he says. Truth be told, there’s not much to hear on this Wednesday evening: car tires rolling over the slick road, the click-clack of pedestrians’ heels on the sidewalk, the odd squawk from one of the rather large pigeons that live precariously balanced on the bare branches of the trees that abut the building.
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