
Andro Wekua
ANDRO WEKUA
HE HAD A FACE LIKE AN ASH-COLORED MASK. I could hear his heavy breathing beneath it.
During warm, humid days he left the city and went to the swamp. He liked to use his foot to test the swamp. To this day, the memory of it takes his breath away. This was in March.
A white motorcycle stood by with its headlight on. Dressed in a white T-shirt and blue sneakers, he was in the swamp up to his waist. He said he wanted to try standing on the surface or to at least feel the bottom of the damn thing. But I can’t really remember what he wanted. I waited, transfixed by his face. As I stared, I