Challenge #4 The Kizomba Dance Party
Listen to me read the story here or read it below:
The bar was in a distant part of the city. I climbed into the bus remembering the times when I used to go to that part of Munich to eat fried sushi with friends. The memory stuck in my throat and I swallowed hard. Those friends were long gone and although it felt alright, I still looked back with a bit of a twinge.
The bus driver seemed talkative. He looked at me and asked where I come from. I patiently yet warily told him of my roots in the States and in Africa. He asked me whether I like Munich.