Six in the Morning at Red-Earth Row 🔍

At six in the morning in Red-Earth Row, I stepped from the plank boardinghouse as the plantation whistle thinned over the cane fields and wet leaves brushed my trouser legs. Rice steamed in a dented tin pot, and I ate it with salted fish while the other men tightened straw hats against the rising heat. By the time we entered the rows, the red soil had already begun to cling to my worn leather shoes, and the cut cane smelled green and sharply sweet. I kept thinking how strange it was to hold American coins in my pocket while every familiar word around breakfast sounded like home.

Half Past Seven at Lantern Room No. 3 🔍

At half past seven in Lantern Room No. 3, I sat beneath a smoky kerosene lamp with my day's dust still caught in the seams of my hands. I counted the few coins in my cloth purse, then set aside the price of rice and a small bar of washing soap before touching pencil to paper. A shopkeeper near the rail siding had mentioned that neat figures were useful after supper, so tomorrow I will ask whether he needs help with his account book. Outside, insects rasped beyond the shutters while I folded the unfinished letter home and tucked it beneath my straw mat.