While walking through the city, someone grabs my arm. It is Beth. I haven’t seen her in years. She slides her hand over my skin, saying that it is smooth like an African Prince.
I wonder, “How does she know what the skin of an African prince feels like? And what part of Africa is she referring to?”
Passersby begin to stare.
She invites me along to see her workplace. It is a little kiosk which sells mobile phones and perfumes on the inside of a street mall…