Literature
Steerage Drabble
Arrenhius? He’s that man, sitting there with the dark, dark eyes. The one whose skin is as black as the rough charcoal he carries everywhere, and who’s shirt, when he’s not garbed for the ravages of the outside world, is about as white as the bastardized equivalent of paper we get out here. You think I’m talking about him sympathetically—well, I suppose so. It’s me and my mercy that’s got him in this kettle now, and at this point it’s starting to boil. Look, even his brother’s there, brushing past him and knocking his shoulder, and he’s so used to it by now he hasn’t even glanc