“As chief, father had insisted on living in a regular hut—a simple thatch of a clay-mud mixture, completed by firm stands. Our reed…”
“I loved the bottle. We first met by accident—but looking back, I can’t make up my mind; it was either in my path or I was, for some reason, in its path. Beginnings can be…”
“It always surprised him, the life that never ran out in the dead of night. A whisky bottle at hand, he walked to the open balcony of his tiny apartment. A breeze cooled the air, rustling…”
The Lynch, 1318 words.