Tasos zigzaged the bike through washed down rocks and I shut my eyes. When I opened them, a show had began. The white stones sparkled after the rain, the valley’s brightness was impossible. Greens jetted out of tortured walls, and gypsy women’s shining frocks swept the mud as they sat on white plastic chairs at crossroads, breastfeeding infants. We raised walls of water slaloming street ponds. Kids threw stones at us, their dogs chased us.

The New Engagement, issue 17

My last day at S...