Stories

From my verandah upstairs, I watched the parade, girls sneaking in and out of his flat, some washing his clothes, others arriving with soup ingredients. To them, he was more than a flashy neighbor. He was hope. A passport. A ticket out. But even as a young girl, I knew his story didn’t add up. I knew something was off. And the day the drug agents stormed his compound, the street held its breath, but I wasn’t surprised. I had seen it coming