Nothing good came free. Even love. You paid for all things. And if you were poor, suffering was your currency.

Writing fiction is the act of weaving a series of lies to arrive at a greater truth.

So, then. You want a story and I will tell you one.

I was overwhelmed with the kindness of people [in Afghanistan] and found that they had managed to retain their dignity, their pride, and their hospitality under unspeakably bleak conditions.

For courage, there must be something at stake. I come here with nothing to lose.

I'm sorry," Laila says, marveling at how every Afghan story is marked by death and loss and unimaginable grief. And yet, she sees, people find a way to survive, to go on.

My father and I did work for a while at the flea market and there really are rows of Afghans working there, some of whom I am related to.