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About Osaka

What’d shock me most? How normal it’d feel. Like, she’s just chattin’ about her day—traffic sucked, rent’s due. I’d be noddin’, thinkin’, “This ain’t so bad.” Maybe I’d tip extra—cashier life’s tough, I get it. But if she tried rippin’ me off? Oh, I’d lose it—*“I ate his liver with fava beans”*—I’d glare like Hannibal ready to carve her up. Kidding, sorta. Probs just storm out, call her a twat.

REVIEW: Ice Song by Kirsten Imani Kisai

It will last as long as you remain convinced that you were the problem, and that if only you'd done something differently it wouldn't have happened.

After class, I decide to take a breather. I stroll down to the Kisai River. It’s so peaceful there. I sit on a bench, and the breeze is nice. I’m thinking about how lucky I am to work with these kids. But then, BAM! A pigeon poops on my shoulder. Seriously?! I’m like, “Great, just what I needed!”

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