Post-Racial, All Inclusive: A Take on a Trip to the Dominican Republic
The tropical morning mist had begun to lift. I stepped through the ornate, bejeweled lobby, spun through the revolving doors and hurtled out onto the … Read more
The tropical morning mist had begun to lift. I stepped through the ornate, bejeweled lobby, spun through the revolving doors and hurtled out onto the … Read more
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. 1993. 6th grade. Mr. Baladucci’s Spelling class. A skinny Indian boy slouches in the back of the class. That’s me. Tongue out, eyebrows … Read more
The Aerogram