The Distant Wound
The stone here does not break; it only remembers the breaking. I am Mzee Hersi, and I have come to the coast to be forgotten, though the State prefers to keep its records in a different currency. The village is a memory of dust, but this place is a memory of water, of the monsoon that turns the streets into rivers where the old boats still float, rotting in their moorings. I left my mother at...
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