But that story has changed so that the All-American kids finish their job. Uncle Sam wants them, after all. He yearns for them, hungers for their righteousness and their small-minded rage.
The world does not know me, he repeated. The world does not know me, he said again and mostly to his nearly-full glass of wine.
I come up from below and sit for a while in the spitting drizzle that’s bubbling through the crack in the living room ceiling.
... of course, when you’re standing naked by the fire, there is no real space for words.
I see the man shooting: dark jeans, white sneakers, and bald as a baby, swinging the pistol wildly, hoping for luck or God to direct his slugs.
Leaves 