Damascus
June 21st 2009 I must have some kind of illness, a very odd illness, one that drags me back to Iraq like some kind of migratory bird each year. Each year for my birthday I gravitate this way.
My first waking memory as a 23 year old was soundtracked by the end of the world crashes of a massive mortar attack. 'Whooomph, bang!' The first salvo woke me up as it barreled in, splitting the air and popping like a TNT
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