Hard Beat

The familiar sights and sounds of the foreign country make it easy to slip back into things even though I’ve been gone a good while. I glance back at Beaux in the seat behind the driver, the constant sound of her camera shutter clicking an accompaniment to the squeak of the car’s nonexistent struts. With her head scarf on, dark hair tucked beneath the fabric, and her caramel-colored complexion, she could easily fit in here in this society if it weren’t for the camera plastered to her left eye as she documents life beyond the car.