“He jumps, flashing the phones a shaka sign as he soars.”

“She’d thought she could drive so fast in that sleek yellow car that she’d outstrip everything else, make the world a blur. But the world was still there, steam rising from the long sleek hood, the car stopped dead forever.”

Carlos couldn’t stop sobbing that night because the ringing in his ear was loud. You shared a bedroom with him, and you told him to be quiet but he bawled anyway, his mouth open and really gummy. His breath smelled of milk and garlic. “It’s in my ear, Lila. You want to listen?” You put your ear close to your brother’s and, of course, you heard nothing. You carried him over and let him sleep next to you even though it was a warm night.

To celebrate having passed the boards for foreign medical graduates, my father bought a new Chevy Caprice station wagon, turtle green with matching interior. The flatbed in the back folded into a bench seat that faced the rear.

People complain about the city. There is never not something to complain about. The sidewalks fill with leaves — red and gold — and these critics still complain. Some people complain and never say goodbye but, sometimes, a complainer vacates.

I think a lot about snow globes. We did not have snow globes in small town Alabama where I was raised. I’m fascinated by them probably because they were not in my childhood. The contained experience of a snow globe, when you pick it up and shake it…