A Trail of Shadows

by Boubacar Boris Diop | Mon Jan 16 2012

VII

Here you are now, on the way home. At last. You think about the peaceful Arab kid from Dunkirk. Mohamed. Seventeen years old. Not even Sydia's age. You clean the floors. They kill. It's no joke: now they kill for real. The wind whispered it into your ears. That night he was busy stoking the flames of hate, on Rue du Roi Doré. You swear, he overdid it on this one. Didn't even pause for a breather, the old fool.

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