noticing his demeanor drag through the shadows cast by thin-trunked trees reaching up towards the sun's rays, i watched our conversation approaching.
as the trickling of boy-boy-boy dripped like drops of water out of the faucet of living hope, he pooled himself on the sidewalk outside, voluntarily stagnating.
like a car picking up speed, so did his honesty come swiftly.
stealing water geysers, melting stolen bank cards to retreive the pin number, hiding guns at congolese gangsters' houses, sleeping in bungalows with the boys in order to get free drugs, cutting car alarm wires and stealing automoblies of beach-visiting locals, selling himself to foreign pedophiles for a day's working wage--words flooded out of his mouth like a great river of guilt and masked fear.
"we cannot live this way anymore, ashley. our life cannot go on like this on the streets."
6 comments:
robinella!!!! i cannot wait to visit you florida. i was thinking about you the other day and determined to email you. thanks for making me look like a slacker :)
every soul is crying out for freedom in some way or another.
stace, when exactly is your wedding/ i have an idea!
hi friend. this reminds me of what you are doing there. When we email I just think- Oh, that Ashley- she's in Africa. But this reminds me of what you are putting your heart through over there.
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