Ifeanyichukwu Peter Eze

I want to write this essay. This is the third day. My progress is a mere sitting and staring, as though I have a pact with the page not to stain it with words. A welcome distraction, my phone blinks with a message from Bashir. The text message excites me. Bashir sells used books along the express road, three streets from my house in Unguwan Bissau. I have been buying from him since last year when I discovered him on a stroll, but it has been three weeks since I heard from him.

◆ 1. “It could have been worse,” Buba says to the image in the mirror. His eyes still scream for sleep. A good explanation for how he has not rested from the journey. And not of how he has grappled with the question: Why did you do it? That’s the same question he asks his pupils if they copied their homework from each other. And if they do not give any reasons, he asks them to remain standing until they tell him why.

https://theoffingmag.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/04/Giovanna-YS-The-Offing.m4a and i’ll do a damn good job. the priest will send a recommendation to the monsignor, who will send a glowing review to the archbishop, who will skip a few steps for the cardinal, and maybe the pope of the people will hear your name said aloud.