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One evening, while I was walking down an empty street, wondering how I can get the world to hail me as the next Hemmingway, an old man appeared out of a near alley. He wore nothing but a patchy coat, and a disjointed pair of glasses. He approached me, arching over his staff, and touched my hand...

chapter one. The donkey dragged the caret lazily down the street. A bony man with a red, filthy beard was smacking the donkey with a long, leather whip. Behind him, under the quilt, a boy slept. He remained this way for the last eight hours. When he woke up, the boy poked his head from under...

just compliment