by Daniel José Older
read by Daniel José OlderPlay in this window
As the street fighting raged on, Victor threw his defibrillator and medic bag into an unlocked door and ducked in. He did a quick glance-glance to make sure no one was around, brushed himself off and walked a few cautious steps into the room. It looked like some busted sultan’s brothel. Elaborate, weathered curtains hung morosely from the ceilings. The Oriental rug was decorated with cigarette burns and an archipelago of stains. The stench of corner-store incense, perfume and Pall Mall cigarettes colored the air. More...