I’m not what I would call religious by nature. Once in a while, however, you witness something remarkable, granting reason to ponder the matter further.
Some of my earliest memories are of a doctor's office. I had the misfortune of having a family doctor whose clinic was like a nightmarish scene from a Coen Brothers film.
Our compound, which is bounded by a scrawny six-foot fence of sorghum sticks and dried grass, is home to between three and nine MSF international staff at any one time.
I could have sworn that the Warden sentenced me to seven days in the hole, I would have dropped a dime on it, I was that certain. As it turns out it must have been a Larium-fueled dream.
