Missing the weird
I’m preparing to hand over my job to someone else this week, and then I’ll officially move on to new things. Tonight, I’m combing through old emails for helpful clues to give the incoming fellow about reporting deadlines and donor profiles, and buried five pages back in the gmail archives I discovered a slightly bewildered and bemused note that I wrote home some time during my first month in Kabul: “I’m sitting at a French restaurant called Le Bistro waitingRead More