The last twilight sank into the Tigris River on the west bank, casting a long shadow from the minaret in Mosul's old city.
The air was a mixture of burning garbage, the aroma of grilled lamb spices, and the ever-present war smoke.
Song Heping tightened the checkered headscarf around his head, revealing only his eyes. His gray robe was covered in dust, and his old leather shoes had cracked, a stark resemblance to the thousands of unemployed on the streets of Mosul.
He queued outside the Bab al-Sindeh Checkpoint in the northern city, with over twenty other civilians waiting to enter.
"Documents," the Illiguo soldier said impatiently.
Song Heping handed over a wrinkled ID card, with the photo of a Shiite Arab named Kasim Ali.
It was one of his fake identities in Iraq.
For a PMC Company boss, having only one identity in war-torn regions was unacceptable.
