His Name Was Charlie

His name was Charlie. Although I didn’t personally know him, so I can’t tell you his favorite colour or his favorite food, the sound of his laugh or whether he was looking forward to starting school or not, there are some traits almost all boys along the river share so I can tell you with…

And the River Rises

The hot sun, more focused and potent than ever. “Un sol de lluvia,” he tells me: A rain sun. The suffocating humidity. The slow drip of sweat. A tired hand raised to wipe it away. The smell of fried fish that fills the room and the sound of quiet, satisfied conversation. The incoming, impenetrable darkness of the…