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The scars weren’t there when she was 21. That spattering of pinched skin from her left shoulder to her ankle. some like marks from cigarettes, some like bullet wounds, some like exactly what they were; 3rd degree burns. A map of small, sudden violences. She’d just graduated from university. In Colombia, after receiving . . . → Read More: Andrea He popped his head out of the gray cement rectangle that held the showers and bathrooms. “I’ll be right with you folks”. Marieke and I sat down on the rickety bench in front of the house. We’d stopped here because we needed water and this was, supposedly, the only store in the area. It didn’t look like . . . → Read More: DON COCO Walking messes with my perception of distances, or maybe it gives me a more realistic sense of them. I mean, I actually feel every single meter (or foot) that I walk. And that achey knowing shows me that given enough steps, almost anywhere can feel like the middle of nowhere. That’s how I was feeling one day as I . . . → Read More: Daniel |
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