On the Impending Trumpocalypse

It’s not over but it looks over. The numbers must be wrong. I can’t keep my eyes open, I’m falling asleep in my chair. I have to be up at five for work. I still have hope. Or I’m still in denial. I don’t know. I close the browser on my desktop, call it up…

Hercules Gets a Job

I was sitting at a table under a tent, on a street called Piotrkowska, in a city called Łódź, in a place called Poland, drinking a beer called Żywiec. It was spring. There was still a bit of a nip in the air, but the ladies couldn’t wait any longer to remove their fur coats…