Kick 'Em When They're Up
Modern Conveniences The news arrives at 2 a.m. — a man in a hat, a war, the familiar architecture of catastrophe dressed in new colors. We knew this was coming. We have always known. The bookcase holds its patient dead, Parenti, Postman, all the ones who said exactly this to no particular effect. The children are grown. The house does what houses do when the noise finally stops — it shows you what was always there underneath the noise. Which turns out to be the question you never had time for, sitting with the answer you can't find on a Sunday night, right about everything, arrived nowhere.