We are the only two walking in the rain,
Apollo and I. I’m wearing a mustard-yellow raincoat; he is not. I’m licking my
wounds, some clearly visible, still breathless from the fight. He finds this all
the more intriguing, picks up his pace as he heads towards me, a bounce in his
step, almost a recognition. It is a kind face with its own scars, one that has
fought and been defeated. As we interact, he circles me, his distance
decreasing. I remember that time a Turkish man asked to take my picture as I
wrote in a cafe. How he invaded me with his eyes. But this is different to that.
I let out a breath that has stagnated in my lungs for days. This encourages him
to breach the distance. We take a photo. I disappear in it.
...READ MORE
