Reeling by Jodie Keeling
Willie Varela had no job, no girlfriend and no direction. Until, one day,with the money he'd earned from taking a job with the 1971 government census (the first one to recognize Hispanics as an ethnic group), he purchased his first Vivitar Super 8 camera. He would put all his pain and uncertainty onto film. Willie Varela had finally found a reason for living.
Section Eight by Daniel Davis Clayton
I thought I saw through the psychodrama-producing, mental self-image trauma inducing, internal bleeding karma-deducing theories of inferiorities of Negro minorities.
Up All Night by Harold McMillan
When people ask how long I've been growing my locks, it seems my automatic answer has been "about ten years." But it's been about 10 years for the last few years.
Verities by Ricardo Acevedo
On rare nights, I would be left on my grandfather's doorstep with a brown paper bag suitcase under my arm. I'd wander round back to the patches of green grass lawn, to the old oak tree stump, to the overgrown xylosma bushes with zinnias and little gold butterflies swarming around, to a small paint battered Victorian and to the decaying shack -- mi "Papa's" shack. This, in my memory, was the universe.
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