Our African adventure jogged a few memories. Stories about my grandfather heard in bits and pieces. Some narrated by his sons, some gleaned from his diaries I stumbled upon.
Whale watching off the east coast of Nova Scotia.
All these years, I had bottled up Conscience, the mistress of my soul, deep under multiple layers of fat accumulated over five decades.
Summer time. Managers at a popular car franchise wilted under the constant pressure of trying to sell their inventory and promote next year’s stock. After much deliberation they hit upon a plan to target new immigrants. They began scouring the countryside for a racecar driver model to promote their new collection.
The day started early, a few sunrays before six. The sun peeped, ran an eye over Holguin beach, looked up, parted the curtains of our resort room, and summoned me to the window.