Do you have a Story to tell?
Perhaps a dangerous adventure or a life threatening situation away from home.

September, 2008. People on buses are afraid in wartime. That’s all I can think about. The somber girl sitting in the aisle seat beside mine is clenching a rail as tight as possible. Everyone is dead silent. The only thing I can hear is the quivering newspaper pages in front of me. There’s a picture of some soldiers sitting on a dusty tank on page one. Outside my window, a young boy hesitantly crosses the countryside road through the still midst towards the bus. He taps on the front glass window five times. The girl to my right holds her breath. The boy pulls a watermelon out of a yellow plastic bag and offers to sell it. We are stuck in a traffic jam. Nobody is moving. I am on my way to the outermost stop on the red metro line in Moscow.