“There’s a lot of pretty girls in Mozambique and plenty time for good romance.”

Bob Dylan

We didn’t say much to each other, and it wasn’t the language barrier, because what little she offered was in perfectly fluent English, an odd rarity in a country where Pouco Portuguese, Bantu and a dozen other languages made up the gumbo of speech. No, what made us mute were cold fear and the dizzying wonderment of what was going on around us.

Worse still, I think I was still a little drunk from the night before, hung over in that reckless, shut-down way where dulled wits are compounded by a fuck-it-all attitude. But not giving two shits about what was going on around me was not the frame of mind I needed to be in now. She kept glancing up at me with these questioning, rapacious... Read More