Coming Home
It’s the day after Christmas, 2004. I’m eight years old. It’s about 8:30 am, and the sea is acting funny. It drags itself back kilometer after kilometer. We watch it go, slowly. When it stops, it piles up … Continued
It’s the day after Christmas, 2004. I’m eight years old. It’s about 8:30 am, and the sea is acting funny. It drags itself back kilometer after kilometer. We watch it go, slowly. When it stops, it piles up … Continued