The Airbnb was quaint and quirky and we blew in with the wind, strewing makeup bags and wine coolers across the place like our signature: four best friends, there to whoop it up.
She feels it beating at its cage like desperate fists pounding inside a coffin that’s been closed too soon, buried too soon.
Outside someone else’s window the neighbour’s wife
. . .
On a 20 hour bus ride through jungle and desert, the bathroom will be vile. But don’t let that stop you.