With salt.
Midwestcrops.
it’s God’s punishment, like AIDS, only more blatant. The media and weathermen don’t know what to make of it, but they keep telling us all about it on the
Swarms of flies buzzing behind trashcans, hovering over bums and winos and prostitutes who died where they fell on the streets. And I had to pass them on the way to work. The first time it shocked me to see a man my dad’s age, propped up against the bakery downtown, legs sprawled in an obscene manner. A few police stood nearby, ringed around the scene with a line of yellow tape. When I asked what happened, the officer in charge shook her head. Don’t you know? This is only the beginning of the end.”
you, only so fine you can’t see it for looking, hard and dry. You never quite get used to the sensation.
A
