TIME magazine asks on its cover: Is Truth Dead?
I wonder: Is Mercy Dead?
A small white plastic bag is stuck on a tree branch outside my window, near the projects. Every day I think it will have blown away but it never has. Will somebody climb up there and remove it eventually?
The trouble is: Everything turns out to be false, including the way we promised we felt about each other.
I keep thinking I need to tell the world that the media is made up of ghastly megalomaniacs but nobody would believe me.