They finished the dam during my last year of high school. Adam Kyle’s older brother was encased within that dam, his bones pulsating with baritone frequencies whenever they ran big water.
When I was a freshman in high school, my mom packed up her organic soap-making crap, announced she’d had enough, and moved into an apartment across town.
An 18-wheeler carrying ten thousand kilos of watermelons had wrecked spectacularly, spilling its cargo from a height of two kilometers, near the peak of the Tu-Ashu mountain pass that looms over the cold northern provinces of Kyrgyzstan.