Animated by Bekker’s threats, dressed in the filthy, blood smeared clothes of yesterday, Turner emerged from the cottage into the lacerating light of African late morning to find his bike lying on its side in the driveway. Struggling to get it upright, his acid sweat thick in his nostrils, he kic...
A long line of people, men and women—some with kids and babies—stand in the late afternoon sun waiting to get in the doors.Ishmael stood there, too, last week. Just stood and waited. One thing he knows how to do. Took two hours to get to see the young woman who told him about his garden job. Miss...
Achmat folds down onto the mattress, laying a glass tube and a lightbulb stripped of its filament on the filthy ticking. He ignores her now, his concentration absolute as he prepares the meth pipe, filling the unthreaded bulb with crystals and firing the underside with his...
He stepped out of the BMW and heard the shrill chirp as he locked it. Drawing eyes like meat flies, the tall black man in his fancy car and city threads. He stood in the lava colored light of afternoon, smelling the old familiar smells. Dust. Dung. Rotting garbage. The stink of rural poverty. Ign...