Caucasian woman, late 20s, with short curly hair, wearing green Scream Literary Festival t-shirt and black shorts, legs crossed, toes painted.
De Niro’s Game, Rawi Hage (House of Anansi)
Page 163:
From the roof, I could see West Beirut on fire. The Israelis bombarded the inhabitants for days, orange light glowed in the night, machine-gun bullets left the ground and darted into the air in red arches. The city burned and drowned in sirens, loud blood, and death.
Late night, St. Mike’s emerg. Broken people in hard bucket seats and the constant feed of ambulances. She holds her arm close to her chest, her elbow throbbing. She’s still wearing her helmet. It hurts too much to move. The woman across from her is high, jabbing her finger at the woman’s ankle tie. She raises her pant leg and taps her monitor. "See," she slurs. "Me and you. We’re the same, hey? We’re the same."
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