This year contributors edited parts of author Ethan Collins’ upcoming “Do Not Mix with Alcohol” in residence, an investigation told by recollections of burned-on-the-job firefighter Mason Garnière into the marriage of appearance to reality. ▲Church booked its retreat above the Okavango River using Airbnb. Read novel samples in this article inline with our breathtaking nature sanctuary pictures.
Our editor traveled 1,000 miles through two countries, malaria infested countryside, and over long stretches of unpaved road by bus, taxi, and car for three days to get to this retreat. At the end of the rainbow they were greeted with hospitality, taken to a residence secluded from other dwellings on the Kavango river, and afforded a butler. Watch a video of their arrival showing how most homes here look.
The editor’s residence in trees, this property’s main home on the hilltop, and from the driveway, down a hill to this riverside retreat: Viewed counterclockwise.
A garden with running fountain, covered outdoor seating equipped with a barbecue, and a full kitchen, shower, electricity, satellite TV, WiFi, and a bar graced the residence inside a fence surrounding our house.
After a breakup ended their spring semester, Mason and Aisha aren’t ready to return to school in DNMwA’s Chapter 5
On the Fourth of July Mason’s shirt was off while he cut every windowpane with long brushstrokes to enhance muntin’s wood grain and sun rose on his back. A rag hung from Mason’s rear pocket, he grabbed a can of paint in his free hand before hurrying labor, washing his brush, and packing tools away. Mason favored this holiday over Halloween and vowed to meet Aisha before nightfall to view commemorative fireworks on Boston’s Charles River with Cori, Aisha’s younger sister, and Tori, one of Cori’s friends.
They mustered at The Garden to connect in mobs of celebrating citizens. Subway cars packed fuller with old-fashioned revolutionaries toward Arlington station where their informal family debarked. The mass of a nation pushed Mason and Aisha to join swarms crowding streets. In open
air folks didn’t climb over one other like subway rats yet, intent on separating from the pack, Mason and Aisha’s entourage veered toward Beacon Hill where it came upon fire trucks bordering Beacon Street. Pumpers plugged into hydrants had charged hose-lines; fire-crews seemed to be awaiting disaster for these revelers.
Around a corner Mason’s foursome came into cops. Unlike firefighters, police weren’t awaiting calamity but creating it. Enforcement grimaced at citizens, ordered where to walk and when to cross; cops intimidated scores with black clubs distended from silver shields. Cori lit a cigarette and Mason bought a beer from a trailer on Storrow Drive. They hurried to the riverbank before pyrotechnics erupted to choreography of Boston Pops where Aisha held Mason’s hand.