Slaughter
While painting a house in New Orleans some twelve-thousand years ago, the owner came out and started talking to me— had me to sit down, take a break, drink some water. Offered me a cigarette—all nice and friendly in the easy southern heat. One thing led to another when, from nowhere, he revealed his daughter had died in the Jonestown Massacre and he was suddenly weeping, choking, sobbing over his […]
Melancholy Hyperbole 