Paul Lojeski: The Saudis dumped a mountain of urine- stained bills into the Foundation’s bloody mouth, a midnight payment for a fleet of slick black bombers…
Paul Lojeski: Once after a hurricane blew power for a week I walked the darkened aisles of a supermarket kept open by loud growling generators, overwhelmed by a fear I’d never felt before.
Paul Haeder: I will continue the fight, all the laurels thrown back at the undeserving, so many of the punishment and superficial class seated in their fourth grade educations (like Mr. Trump) or limelighted in the heat of the reckless “higher halls of academia” highlighted by the media monsters that are in the back-pockets of the millionaire and billionaire class.
Stephen Toskar: the American clad in his orange jumpsuit, head covered until the butcher, a heavyset magician in a black hood, pulled it not like a rabbit but like a spoiled melon from its sack, and placed it on the sand
Paul Lojeski: August blazing across Boston. Working that factory, a furnace inside, sweating sheet metal walls. Blacks and Cubans and Puerto Ricans and two long-haired white boys banging iron, wielding flame.