A piece by alum Geoffrey Kronik appears at The Common:
Every morning I sat on the terrace and waited for him. Night would fade to gray dawn, the sun’s first rays struck the kilometer-high spire of Burj Khalifa,and then the sculler would appear. No other craft plied Dubai Creek at that hour, no working dhows or party cruises. River belonged to sculler and sculler to his boat, and I would sit with my coffee and envy him.
I envied him because he rowed, a sport I had long wished to try, and because he lived in sunny Dubai while I would soon return to wintry Boston. It was an anniversary trip and my wife slept late each day, her internal clock reset to holiday time. She never saw the sculler and I did not mention him: envy of a life you do not have is best hidden from those who share the one you do.
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