My father peered ahead towards the moonlit backroad, his hands firm on the beaten leather of the steering wheel. He raised one to scratch the dark stubble on his cheek, then to brush the stray hairs out of his line of sight, before finally locking it back in place at the two o’clock position. I didn’t know our destination to offer directions, so I made myself busy by squeaking my red galoshes together. Then, I jingled the metal clasps of my denim overalls. It created a silly rhythm of sorts. This continued until I saw my father silently scratch his face for an extended duration, which I took as a sign to quiet my noise. Our drive went on for another twenty minutes, the silence occasionally broken by a bump in the road to jostle the truck or a cough to clear a throat. We rolled to a stop in…
“At the Canal Saint-Martin . . .” Leon holds his hand up, attempting to cut off Trevon from saying another word. The pigeons swarm…
We who gathered at the St. Teresa Del Norte Saloon rebelled against the norms of the day, whatever the norms were, it didn’t really…
I see him just about every morning during my jog. Jogging in the dawn through the neighborhood still asleep and then through a nearby trail…
Along the river banks of the Mekong River, cluttered along the edge of the jungle that looks to overtake them at any time, are…
With her arm inserted through a wicker basket’s handle, Kate carefully stepped over the shoreline’s rocks as water sloshed inches from her feet. Tied…
From the football field size patch of muddy land stretching out along the side of the road where I sat, I could see the…
The day after the bombing, I got a call from Rahman whom I hadn’t seen or heard from in years. He had been a…
Everything was the same hue of brown as the sand in the desert. The clay brick streets and small, squat huts looked ancient, turned…