Brianna

Port Harcourt City, Deja Vu. There is always a slight difference each new time I arrive here but the outline is always the same. First, it was Brianna with a broken luggage bag approaching a stranger with a sign that read her name. The second time, it was with luggage that actually worked, approaching a man whose face was familiar to me now and the third time with about four luggages from a private terminal as I approached a man I already expected to be here.

“Miss, Fletcher,” David tipped his imaginary cap to me.

I had a poor attendant helping me roll all my bags down to the...