
IN Calabar, night falls solemnly: the lulling feets of homegoers call to me, the smell of exhaustion permeates the streets, calling to me a remembrance of childhood now lost in the murkiness of memory. They retire with the chickens here in Calabar. Sometimes, my mind strolls through these empty streets, my feet becoming the feet […]
from Brittle Paper http://ift.tt/2l2Oh31
Comments
Post a Comment