In the dark, the bracelets look like glowworms wriggling over each other.
Their singing sounds like gentle pleading.
Orange liqueur burns my throat and settles with bittersweet warmth in my head.
Beside a windy leaf-strewn path in the park, he talks about his break-up. We nod in sympathy. We don't let on that we could see it coming months ago.
Staid men, pillars of the community, holler like frat boys. It's supposed to be a display of joyful exuberance, but it frequently comes across as forced.
Chairs in disarray, people nibbling on chicken as others pray. The afternoon festivities wind on in unfocused joy.
A man in medieval garb hums under his breath as he cuts past the bicyclists in the park.