We're blind moles. Creeping through the soil, feeling with our snoots. We know nothing. I perceived this . . . now I don't know where to go. Screech with fear, only. Run away.

Because according to the story we are told, there always comes a moment in our lives when we reach "our limit"...the acomodador: there is always an event in our lives that is responsible for us failing to progress

She hopes for nothing except fine weather and a resolution. She wants to end properly, like a good sentence.

I watched the refugee kids swim. They are easy to spot. They are the ones whose mothers stand on the shore watching the horizon instead of their child.

Written By Bill Carter

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