“Chasing the Echoes of Home: A Journey Through Memory and Migration”
Colin joined us at the window. “Car bomb.” He was fully clothed; he must have slept in his jeans and T-shirt.
Where had he been all night? What had he been doing? I stepped away from him, pretending to get a better look at the fire.
“We’ve got to get out of here,” Hanalea said.
“No. They’ll get it under control.” Colin wrapped his arms around Ginnie from behind. “We’re safer here than on the sidewalk.”
In the distance, a muezzin sang the Fahr, the first prayer of the day, over a scratchy loudspeaker.
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