This is a story of seventy years ago (or a stretch from long before WWI to the end of Viet Nam) in the memory of a little boy who could catch the colors and delight in his exceptionally cultivated family’s recognitions, but could not join them up.
Category: travels
Going Bananas
Monkey on your back may be a hackneyed expression, but there’s nothing trite about it when it happens to you. Besides, it was all about the bananas.
The Smell of Home
That cancerous fucking cloud stopped no one from living their lives… He would be crouched on the balls of his feet on the sidewalk, pollution filtering mask hanging from one ear, and smoking a cigarette.
