Kwame turned and tucked his head under his forearm. He attempted to block out the bright sunlight streaming through the holes in the rusted zinc walls and roof of his ten by four foot shack. He’d had a late night of rum-partying with his friends and needed a few more hours of sleep to ease the pounding at his temples.
Roosters heralding the dawn at the top of their voices sent the stray dogs into a frenzy of barking and howling.
The disturbance awoke the shanty yard residents, who created their own clatter, preparing for Sunday Mass. He closed his eyes to stave off nausea….
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