immigrant.

and he asked if faith was enough…
the belief that when all is said and done there is a heaven…a safe… warm place filled with love…a god filled with love…

his face was young…pitch black with an African tongue and whiskey on the breath…it’s the little things we’re thankful for…

I don’t know, I told him, Is that what you want your heaven to be?, a look out the bus window and a nodding of a drunken head…

this place is cold, the African said, Too cold, the kid drew in smily faces upon fogged glass…, It’s not what I thought…

No…I’m sure it’s not, picking up a dropped bottle on the floor…., Plastic…thank God for plastic, white teeth shined…

when I get to heaven…I will have the biggest mansion on the street of gold, he laughed…,The biggest…

you know what I think?

what?

I think you’re adapting to America very well….


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