Winter 2010

In the many pages of the book of love this is only one story.
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“You know what they say about
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free health care. It costs money.”
No one in Lagos slouches. Bravado pulsates through the room.
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It was the sixties, and I was in
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college and incredibly restless.
“I wish my father was alive to see how lazy I could really be.”
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Paharganj reels with beggars. Old women, boys, breast-feeding girls.
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“Stop looking at women’s magazines and call me in the morning.”
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