Showing Results 1 - 2 of 2
Restricted
Text
I sometimes dream that I’m a prisoner. For days, years. I’m only free at night, for a few hours toward morning. During those hours I can walk around. But I don’t know where to go. All the people I…
Contributor:
Barbara Honigmann
Date:
1996
Subjects:
Categories:
Restricted
Text
I lowered the window more and let the wind wash my face. As often happens when you stand at the window of a fast-moving train, a speck of dirt flew into my eye, and both eyes began to tear.
I had…
Contributor:
Friedrich Gorenstein
Date:
1988