Camp City

Camp City, a basti made of tarpaulin tents, was meant to be a temporary address. The government issued your grandparents refugee cards and they believed better days were about to come. Look how that turned out. Even poles of the boundary fence began to rot. Barbed wires sagged from the weight of drying clothes.

Snow Legs

Every morning, we stood beside the frosty appendages, gripping our mugs of coffee, searching for changes. Even when the temperatures fluctuated, the legs didn’t morph or shrink.


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Berkeley Fiction Review
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432 Eshleman, MC 4500
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