Despite her initial first-generation confusion towards the phrase, it had been embedded in Sonia’s ‘reserved for home’ Guyanese Creole vocabulary.
It was Mama who bought Lal his first mask. That was more than twenty Carnivals ago and now he had developed a great fondness for wearing them.
Rosalie took one look at the tarot cards this morning and gazed up at me. “Molly,” she said, “I need to get away from you.” Then she bolted down Psychic Alley.
It was the start of the rainy season. Dark clouds billowed over the setting sun, leaving the air ripe with a feeling of dread.
The moon rose this night as it had done in the days, months, and years before, as it would tomorrow and the night after that if life remained, but this night was different.
Is years I waiting for God to smile on me. And is years the devil pissing on me. Sometimes I think I is the orphan child of the both a them.
Akashic intern Lisa Martens reviews The Dead Run by Adam Mansbach (Harper Voyager).
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