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Excerpts
They clashed. She
with her knee length H&M designer suits, suede pumps,
Gucci bags and him with his biker clothes; body-length
black leather coats, spiked bracelets, faded jeans,
laced boots and tattoos. She alternated between driving
a small black Golf and the public transit while he rode
a huge sparkling Harley Davidson motorcycle and took
public transit once in a while. In fact it had been on
the Bathurst Streetcar where they had met; one of those
few times when she took the Bathurst Street route.
Jane Musoke-Nteyafas,
FORBIDDEN FRUIT
* * * *
*
Long before the cars arrived, a cloud of
brown dust would rise in the distance from the dry gravel road
to announce the ball players. Later cars with whole families,
teenagers, and people from the church down the road would park
along the edges of the field, straddling the narrow road.
Latecomers would block the driveway of the store and have to be
asked to move their cars in order to provide turn around space.
But that was Walter's job.
Brenda C. Wilson,
Always
on Sunday
* * * *
*
Afadina Dotse
staggered out of Vodunon Axuadegbe’s shrine towards
his BMW 525i car, mumbling “I should’ve left them
alone.” A medium-built customs clearance agent with
close-cropped hair, a thick moustache, and wearing a
rich lace dress, Afadina sagged against the car
door. Akoli Penoukou,
Into His Arms
* * * *
*
It was 1:30 in the morning. Lucinda was half a jigger away from inebriated as
she held a double shot of Seagram's and 7up poised before her glossy, hot pink
painted lips. Precisely at that moment, Lucinda made up her mind "since I'm
going to die eventually, I might as well live tonight" which meant she was
not going home alone tonight. In fact, she wasn't going home at all, at least
not to her own home. Kalamu ya Salaam,
Forty-Five
Is Not So Old
The iron bars closed shut behind me. The black man sat on the edge of
the cot, his elbows on his knees, his forehead in the palms of his
hands. He did not look up until I spoke. I was in suit and tie. He
thought me at first to be a lawyer, a white man.
Rudolph Lewis,
The
Confessions of Walter Cotton |
