Raj has his laptop open, and he types as Kathy leans towards him, whispering intensely. She catches a glimpse of herself in the cabin’s living room window – pale face framed by red pigtails, next to the burgundy orb that is Raj’s turban…
A story is haunting me. In itself, this is not unusual; stories are central, indeed generative, in my life, but the particular story is peculiar. It’s old and I suspect most people know it…
