My Vietnamese name is Le Hoang Dung. My American name is Donald Lipscomb.
After the post-election glow, Baghdad is back in the real world. The streets are clogged with vehicles honking and people hawking.
Three days after Iraqis voted amid a barrage of bombs and Hollywood awarded Kathryn Bigelow’s The Hurt Locker six Academy Awards (including Best Picture and Best Director), I’m at Baghdad’s General Counter Explosive Directorate, the center of Iraq’s Explosive Ordnance Disposal programs.
Under the quarter moon, in the high beams of their armored vehicles, US soldiers are gearing up for the most important day of the Iraq War.
Friday. A day for prayer. Two days before the national elections. Still warm and sunny.
Pickup trucks, SUVs, military trucks, Humvees, fire trucks, ambulances. Honking. Singing. It all looks like a big tailgate party.
The sky over Baghdad is deep blue. Last night’s rain has washed the air spick-and-span. The day billows with promise—all green palms and golden mosques.
“Lock the back door.” The voice of our turret gunner is loud but calm, almost weary, like the voice of a steward on a commercial flight from New York to Paris.
Georgi Stoev’s Gangster Pulp
Липсата на социални връзки, на връзки между нас самите и заобикалящата ни среда, е най-сериозният проблем в България. (In Bulgarian)