The city lies quiet, clenched with worry. The night is empty, still. Even the wind is reluctant to move about. In the suburbs, through the backroads
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I see his car before I see him. Only, I don’t know that it’s his. There are a lot of V8’s in this parking lot and
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My mother-in-law is not a pious woman. You are more likely to find her holding a how-to guide on pleasing your man than the Four Gospels.
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The door to Ben’s office is ajar when I get there. I tap lightly and walk in to find Awiti – our elderly tea lady –
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On this February night, I find myself standing by our master bedroom window watching the quiet rustling of dried palm leaves dancing in a mild breeze.
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