"This is Sophie," my mother said through the holes in the thick glass. As we waited on line, an old fan circled a spider's web above our heads.Ī chubby lady greeted my mother politely when we got to the window. My mother slipped Tante Atie's cassette into a padded envelope. People stood on line patiently waiting their turn. It was a small room packed with Haitians. My mother took me to Haiti Express, so I could see the place where she sent our money orders and cassettes from. T he streets along Flatbush Avenue reminded me of home.
0 kommentar(er)
