In my corner of Asia, where Sweat has its own personality and my backyard looks like Barrie’s Neverland, holidays feel far away because there aren’t quite enough reminders. The surplus of candy corn, the spider-webbed columns of old Victorian houses, the vampire teeth in the quarter machines… we have none of that here. Especially as we are now in a period of mourning–our beloved king has passed–any holidays that might have touched our land have been dampened into solemnity.
We whirred through the clutter. Tasted the salt-sour fish in fumed air. It leaked through the cracked truck windows, a pungent stream, and I told myself fish stunk back home too. Continue reading
Sugar gripped the handrail of ceramic green dragon scales, breath coming in short gasps between her pouty brown lips. Continue reading