Micro-Memoirs
A minimalist experiment — can a few words take the place of a photograph in safeguarding our memories?
Vaclav Havel smoking a cigarette on an empty Prague street.
The exact moment my father gave up trying.
The inside of a Yugoslav military interrogation room.
Purple Rain-era Prince browsing the R&B section in the record store where I worked.
Crashing at the NYC apartment of a friend’s college buddy, a little-known comedian named Jon Stewart.
Not being a better friend to my high school bandmate who was dying of cancer.
Crying like a baby when Ali lit the Olympic torch.
My best friend getting t-boned on his Vespa by a pickup truck, just after dropping me off at home.
Feeding endless coins into the basement electric meter to heat my London bedsit in winter.
My flight to post-war Kosovo on a plane that would crash three days later, killing everyone aboard.
Walking alone on an endless mountain road toward Montenegro, snow falling, late afternoon, no ride.
First morning in Prague. Spilling my whole breakfast on my only jeans.
