THE NIGHTMARE IS JUST BEGINNING
Entering the courthouse I feel a muddy taste in the back of my throat, like I just swallowed a lot of sea water. I sit, waiting for my lawyer and translator to arrive. I look at some notes I have made. Last year, this was one of the first days when I was living in the new apartment, a freshly single father. I had taken my guitar and saxophone, balancing them precariously on E's carriage as I trundled them down the avenue.
THE KITCHEN TABLE IS ALL THAT MATTERS (BEFORE AND AFTER)
And then something happens that I did not expect. Five policemen are here, bristling for trouble. I stand quietly, calmly. In the best Russian I can muster, I explain why I am here. The door opens, and I glimpse E in the dark apartment. Her eyes wide, I see she is shaking.
THE CROW'S ANNIVERSARY
July 4th carries a personal significance for me now. This is the anniversary of "the beginning of the end". The only fireworks on this day last summer were the screaming and doors being slammed off of their hinges. Of dishes being thrown, of a child crying.
THE CHOICE IS HIS (NO SURRENDER)
The frail man does not fight back, no fists raised, no dispute, no denial. He barely defends himself, as he slides away and tries to stand up on the wet grass. Another flurry of words from the driver, his fist dangles in the air, telegraphing his next punch. It comes, and the man absorbs it more sponge than human.
