Mckenzie's Podcast

To say Sanjid’s house was shabby was a gross misunderstatement. The ancient outer edifice was crumbling and so too were the walls inside. It was highly unlikely that the windows had ever been cleaned. The threadbare linen draped over them, although once vibrant with colour, was now sun-bleached to a monochromatic grey. It was held together by the cobwebs that generations of spiders had dexterously spun over gaping holes where countless flies were trapped in mass graves. McKenzie stooped under the low roof in the dusty room where the meeting was to be held. Sanjid motioned for him to sit down, so McKenzie sat cross-legged on the warped wooden floor. Sanjid had no desire to work in the brick factory that had employed his family since the day it was built. In an attempt to get out he had found himself a niche where he could work running errands for the local underworld. Unwittingly, he had found himself entangled with an Iranian-backed extremist group who, single-handedly wanted to rid Pakistan of every white in