SETTING Present Day. Interior of a black-owned barbershop (ew not Great Clips) on the Eastside of Atlanta. Flags for the Atlanta sports teams adorns all of the walls. Paintings of Barack Obama and Malcolm X kicking it reside next to the mirrors. Muhammad Ali and
It was the morning after my older brother, Mike, moved out. Mom had just left for her job at the bank, and I was in the kitchen, barefoot, wearing a long t-shirt and boxer briefs, staring out the back door. The condensation on the glass
Yemen, 2010. I stood by the front door of our gated school, keeping half of my arm inside to make sure the metallic door didn’t close. I peeked inside to see if anyone was noticing, and peeked back at Reema every few seconds. She stood
Conversation with Max, April 2020 I am in my room, he in his, our gemini miseries roping between us. Not a single 10 minutes passes without me hearing an ambulance or two anymore, he says. Weill Cornell, HSS, and Lenox Hill are all close
Each street is covered in mud, stray dogs search for their owners bodies they toss and tumble through the wreckage like dendrites, millions of branched extensions pile in the streets a nightmare from hell. Blue gray bits of flesh become one with murky water. The