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no words

this is Monday



Fifty souls, and surely more when the day is done. Mothers, sons, uncles, loners, school teachers, some with tattoos, some with red hair, some in a favorite pair of boots. I can imagine the warm air. There was laughter and cold beer. Then, people running wild, down airport runways and filling the streets. The pictures come. The gritty videos. The screams. The slap of the gunshots. In all of its ugly, unvarnished truth, this is our world and this is my country. 

This is Monday.






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