One summer night in 2030, in the garden of a nursing home, two old men began remembering. As a little boy I thought that dried apricots were ears, and I’d wonder who the unlucky soul was who’d had them chopped off. When I was forced to try one, picking it out from a Christmas arrangement of dates and candied fruit, I said to myself: “So this is what ears taste like.” I, on the other hand, believed in a magic powder that, if dissolved in water and drunk, would protect me from bad dreams—and … [Read more...] about Down There