City of saints

ADDIS HOT BOX Two Addis sisters locked shoulders in a jello mould of jazz. The club was a hot box of twinkly stars and loose laws of rain. Smoked a pack of Nyala hoping for a husband that night. Spent decades in the bathroom, zipping up my past. It was midnight when I left, street dogs were falling in love, Howling commitments far exceeding any I had made In my…