The Calabash Literary Festival went on as planned but I didn’t get to go. There were omens and mishaps and haunting dreams. I spent Saturday juggling the mundanity of weekends, shopping at the market, hands weighed down with fruit, meat, greens and bread. I cleaned the house, ironed church clothes while waiting, wondering if I’d made the right choice. Should I have overlooked the cobwebbed doubts that shadowed my mind? Should I have ignored the ill omens and taken a trip down to Treasure Beach, four-plus taxis away? Should I have made the ultimate sacrifice?
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