“What kind of button are you looking for?”
“The Italians are afraid for us,” my wife says now. “They are good people.” I nod.
“She never knew you but she would be so proud of who you have become.
I lived in their world. But I did not share their reality.
I still remember the day the kid showed up. I worked on the forty-third floor of a San Francisco offices tower. In a city that admired flatness, bureaucratic and corporate, some industries still valued exclusivity. I was in one of those lines of work. I was a venture capitalist. Not just any venture capitalist though, […]
“OK,” she started, looking down as she wrote. “What is your full name?”
“Did your god protect you?”
Mohammed read, and Mohammed interpreted. He heard the voices telling him that the Chinese, communist materialists, were the enemies of Islam.
He was there so I could convince him that was a bad idea.
Strad’s feet cooled. He wasn’t the line-crashing type and, while a stiff drink would hit the spot, he wasn’t sure he was up to facing that intense old man.