The World Will Fall, The Gods Will

The Other Thing That Troubled Me: Dad Was Clutching His Workbag. Usually When He Does That, It Means We're In Danger. Like The Time Gunmen Stormed Into Our Hotel In Cairo. I Heard Shots Coming From The Lobby And Ran Downstairs To Check On My Dad. By The Time I Got There, He Was Just Calmly Zipping Up His Workbag While Three Unconscious Gunmen Hung By Their Feet From The Chandelier, Their Robes Falling Over Their Heads So You Could See Their Boxer Shorts. Dad Claimed Not To Have Witnessed Anything, And In The End The Police Blamed A Freak Chandelier Malfunction.

We Were Just Looking At Maps.

With My Sister Perched On My Arm, I Walked To The Elevator. A Business Man With A Rolling Suitcase Was Waiting By The Doors. His Eyes Widened As He Saw Me. I Must’ve Looked Pretty Strange—a Tall Black Kid In Dirty, Ragged Egyptian Clothes, With A Weird Box Tucked Under One Arm And A Bird Of Prey Perched On The Other. “how’s It Going?” I Said. “i’ll Take The Stairs.” He Hurried Off.

June Cackled With Delight, Muttering, "whoops!" As A Car Almost Killed Them.

I Knew Dionysus Must've Filled It Out, Because He Stubbornly Insisted On Getting My Name Wrong: Dear _______peter Johnson__________.