A Storyby Bill Barich
Of course we drank too much during the crisis. Everyone did. The country was in shreds, tearing itself apart at the seams. Clubs, machetes, widespread rioting, then rumors of a civil war. A familiar story in the postcolonial age, but new to us. We could’ve gone home, Emma and I, but we’d forfeit a bonus at the end of the term, so we stayed. Although we could imagine the worst happening, we were too naive to believe it really would.