He would have to settle for an unmarked grave, if you could call it that, and his bleached white bones, stripped clean by wild dogs in a dry riverbed on the outskirts of Kabul, not unlike the one he ... [+]
19 year old writer from Atlanta, Georgia. Rotates between reading old European translations and watching basketball. "Would You Like My Jacket" is in Short Circuit #14, Short Édition's quarterly review.
I had just gotten out of the gas station and bought what I usually bought on my little Sunday night trips—a pack of reds, a water bottle (one of the purified waters. Spring water is quite gross to me and Michigan tap is awful), and a chocolate depending on my mood. There was this European white chocolate they were selling this week that wasn't there before. I can't remember the name but it was amazing. It was like a bar of straight white chocolate with an etching on it and one of those colorful Kinder-like wrappers (it was not Kinder). I decided to buy two and the cashier was mad at me for e