The Sticky Hum of Summer
The memory is not in the flavor, but in the frantic, desperate race against the heat. I remember the cold, sharp sting of sugar against my tongue, followed immediately by the frantic stickiness spreading across my knuckles. It was a humid,…
Between Here and There
I remember sitting on a train pulling out of a station in Rajasthan, watching the platform blur into a smear of ochre and grey. Across the aisle, a young boy pressed his forehead against the glass, his breath fogging the pane as he traced patterns…
The Weight of a New Year
I remember standing on a pier in San Francisco just as the clock struck midnight, the air thick with the smell of salt and burnt sulfur. An old man beside me, wrapped in a wool coat that had seen better decades, didn't look at the sky. He was…