Near midnight she pedals her rented bike past Checkpoint Charlie. Vacant, but suitably restored, the off-white, utilitarian guard box occupies the middle of the street, protected from a barrage of ... [+]
feeling like a dog's wet breakfast, I comb my hair and dress in a cleaner shirt. in the kitchen, you move bottles off the table, careful as a bulldozer knocking houses in palestine. the sun lands on the front of the building, twisting like the face of a sunflower. windows gape open around us, bringing light and hairbrush-dry heat.