Wednesday, January 30, 2013
Cars drive by slowly on my busy block with their windows down, their beats overlapping with the radio of the corner store, Monty's, playing Bob Marley, "I shot the sheriff..."
I sit on my porch, drinking watered down Coke from the ice that's melted quickly from the warm blanket heat, and wait for my mom to come home from her job as a tour guide to tourists who think this island, this place we call home, is exotic and strange.
*Prompt used from a ForWord Session. The first line was not mine.
Saturday, January 26, 2013
We were sitting on the porch overlooking the city. Our house came up against the edge of the mountain. The view, a thousand twinkling lights in the night sky like lighters at a concert asking for an encore.
"I see my future way brighter than it will probably be. Sometimes when I look toward the horizon the light is so bright I have to turn away," I paused and looked out into the warm night air, "I have to squint to make sure I don't go blind, you know?"
I licked my lips, unsure, and turned to look at him. His arms were hugged around his calves as if he was cold on this swampy summer night even though he was wearing jeans cut off at the knee.
"Well, can't you just wear shades?" he asked.