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“A boorish laborer of some type emerged from a crowd of timid Coke-drinking men. He moved toward us with the wide menacing stance of a wrestler, black glistening hair, jutting like straight shards from beneath a Pashtun cap. Strong as an acre of garlic. He stared at me with an undignified glimmer in his eye that I wished wasn't there.” — Michael Benzehabe
A boorish laborer of some type emerged from a crowd of timid Coke-drinking men. He moved toward us with the wide menacing stance of a wrestler, black glistening hair, jutting like straight shards from beneath a Pashtun cap. Strong as an acre of garlic. He stared at me with an undignified glimmer in his eye that I wished wasn't there.