I was quiet and left to my memories. I especially like reliving the days leading up to the festival, when artists would paint the sand to look like the sky. I'd float through the crowds, sandcastle in hand, clouds in eye, saltwater dripping off my trunks. Mom made bootleg cola in a bucket and Dad was a music man who pl... [Continued]...
I was sitting in a large armchair reading a book on Mary Todd Lincoln. My eyes ached and my head was throbbing. 14 hours…... [Continued]...
Those dag-flimpin hunger strike skin-twigs were on one thing when they were advocating for vegetarianism. They stepped it up a few notches too many, I’d say a whole hunk of notches too many, when they began cleaning up the town’s piss supply.... [Continued]...
To the those who value dreams,... [Continued]...
In these surreal times, a newspaper is required to document the history currently unfolding. Four doctors of journalism have dedicated themselves to unearthing the truth that lies somewhere beneath the crust of what was formerly perceived. What they and their colleagues discover is conveyed in these stories.
