Autism is you’ve got to say it louder. No, a little quieter. Wait, you have to look at her honey because she didn’t hear . . .
Category: Original Fiction
The house had been vacant for a long time, the realtor told me, but she wasn’t sure why.
Q: [tapping the photograph] Where’s the little girl? Where’s Anisa Quashie?
A: We do not know Anisa Quashie.
It was 6:25 am when 4 year old Brianna tiptoed into our bedroom. Dim morning light bounced off her damp cheeks. “Mommy,” she said, chin quivering, “I . . . don’t . . . feel ‘dood . . .”
Kwapo can’t remember the words to the song, but it doesn’t matter. These days the show is strictly burlesque . . .
Detective Almodovar, half Polish, half Puerto Rican, sits in the playground at the corner of Borinquen Plaza and Rodney Street.
Today, Ultras threw rocks and policemen fled. Tonight, Ivana is still standing, the breeze tickling her skin.
She had been with him since he was a young ensign on his first leave in Manila . . .
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