The airport was abuzz with travelers. After a year of performing for audiences who shouted “yes” to their Haitian music, Pappyon, Neg Mawan, Yatande and Zilibo—known as The Haitian Cats—were going on vacation . . .
The pain was an explosion of red at the base of his skull. His mouth was bitter, like burnt coal. Ernesto Dela Cruz slowly opened his eyes. He had to, he wasn’t dead. Yet . . .
I am sitting in Row A, Seat 1, dressed in a double-breasted dark oxford gray suit, a plain white shirt, and a dark blue silk tie . . .
You might think that she was a monster, but she really wasn’t . . .
7:30am, Okay; coffee, laundry, then walk . . .
We saw him running. Down, down. From the mountain, across tracks, across highway, State Route 111, Southern California, right there alongside the Salton Sea. Salton Sea. Why is it named so? . . .
I was seventeen in 1965. The “Sally Bumps” gang hung out at Vinny’s Bar. Their main racket was stealing copper from the telephone company . . .
The road to Vegas is its usual Friday afternoon parking lot. We are meeting friends and plan to do mushrooms—as in those kind of mushrooms. It’ll be my first time. . . .