The Hurley: David Harewood reads a story by Paul Mendez for Esquire’s Summer Fiction Series

Josiah and Doris, both in their twenties and dressed in black cotton basics, had just finished work. It was almost midnight on a Tuesday in early September, and they were sitting on stools on the pavement outside their restaurant, smoking cigarettes and drinking tumblers of house red wine. Another waiter, and two bartenders, were finishing off last bits inside, closing down the glasswasher and counting out the cash tips while dancing to Kelela’s “Rewind”. The duty manager could be seen through the window popping his head up from the office to ask them to turn it down a little, after recent complaints by local residents about the thumping bass during closedowns.

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