The local surgeon, Dr. Veten, gave me two anesthetic shots and started stitching up the wide gash under my nose that tore into my lip. When I opened my eyes every few minutes, the frame of his glasses filled my vision.
She had pulled up her hair using a plastic comb and wore a purple shirt that was too big for her. All corners of her teeth had red stains. She had smooth, dark skin. Despite her teeth and dirty fingernails, I thought she was very pretty.
When he was a child, his father, high on drugs, stabbed his mother, his younger brother and him. They died that night, but Ishmael survived. He used to show the scars on his abdomen to other patients. He showed them to me, too.