Mickey Strider photographs himself as a dead body in a multitude of dramatic settings, from the profound to the profane. They are desolate and detached. They are also compellingly beautiful, and impossible to turn away from.
There are no super heroes in this supernatural tale; instead we find the potentially mad, the elderly, the coward, the hired gun, all joining in an attempt to halt a fate quite literally 'worse than death.'
Whatever else she sent me, Medjool dates came too: thumb-sized, their dazzling honey-sweetness hidden inside skin whose color and crunch evoke, with every bite, cockroach wings.
Of all things to find on a bus bench right after my birthday, of all things. Coincidence? No. Gift.
Hillary Clinton has every right to be pleased with herself and her government. Gaddafi had finally landed in the enemy pile after years of swinging back and forth in his American alliance, and enemies are not meant to endure. His time had come, by all accounts.