It was all because of the squeal of the windshield wiper. Not the rumbling racket it made as it stammered back along the pane. No, that wasn’t so bad. But the squeal on the way down—shrill, insistent, bleak. Who could stand that shit? . . .
Tag: El Silbón
Featured: Black Interest
- Getting It Right
- The Warmest December
- Bedrock Faith
- The Sexy Part of the Bible
- The Half That’s Never Been Told: The Real-Life Reggae Adventures of Doctor Dread
- The Hungered One
- Sale Amiri Baraka 3-for-1 Sale!
- Lagos Noir (Nigeria)
- Gomer’s Song
- So Much Things to Say: 100 Poets from the First Ten Years of the Calabash International Literary Festival
- Frederick Douglass in Brooklyn