There’s Something about Chaos that Smells of Freedom

Right before I lost my job in DC the last time I lived here, an old roommate of mine invited me to fly down to Honduras, where she was living at the time, to take two weeks to cross the border with her and travel through Nicaragua over the Christmas holiday. She and I had bonded one night while sitting out on our old porch, smoking joints as a summer rain drenched the city. That was before I’d gotten sober that time, and as we’d sat out there on the rotting couch, I’d told her a non-linear ve...