Twenty one years and not a day moreThe sun, rises above the clouds andI step into workThe cap pops off the bottle andI am driving insteadThe light shoots out, into the sky andYou are smiling at her
In kindergarten, you came home one day and couldn’t stop talking about her. Your mother asked you who you were blabbering on about; “My best friend,” you replied. It was as if it had always been that way.
The airport in Addis Ababa is an oversized square and smells like people and duty-free snacks. Storefronts with headless mannequins line its walkways and vie for the attention of braless Europeans with money to exchange. Listless travelers dogged its perimeter in the sleepy hours of that morning…
The screen was flickering, as it always did, proudly displaying the screening times of…
No need to close the beach. People just stop swimming. The lifeguards pull Jenkins from the water and work on him until the EMTs arrive. People stand in small groups at a distance and watch. Mothers hold their children, telling them not to stare. The…