Racial Memory, Part Three
It was silent. I felt as if I was floating, swaddled, the only sound was a rhythmic pulse, not unlike a heartbeat. I had never experienced a sensory deprivation tank, supposedly a way to totally [more…]
It was silent. I felt as if I was floating, swaddled, the only sound was a rhythmic pulse, not unlike a heartbeat. I had never experienced a sensory deprivation tank, supposedly a way to totally [more…]
Having not used public transport for some time, I had anticipated a lively social experience, sharing my journey with a group of strangers embarking on a new day, a new week. I was to be [more…]
Have you ever wondered what might have happened if when you left your house you had turned left instead of right, taken a different route to work, taken the bus or the train instead of [more…]
At Going-Postal in general and QT Review in particular, we pride ourselves that nobody reads the comments, nobody reads the articles, and at least one proofreader (me) can barely read and write. I’m often pulled [more…]
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