There is an airport. Not a very well known or famous airport, but an airport nonetheless. It has a couple runways and a few planes--infernal flying machines. Let's presume this airport is in Iowa. Des Moines, Iowa--in fact--is where this airport resides. That sounds like a fine place for an airport to call home. An airport needs a good home, much like a child or fichus.
Two white brothers and an Indian friend,
Three heads above the alligator-green water
Of the Atlantic Ocean.
"What's the secret, Max?"
"Yeah you seem like a guy who knows what's going on"
"I think you just have to find something you love to do and then do it for the rest of your life"
-Rushmore, Wes Anderson
Her left shoulder dips involuntarily, her body responsive to the harsh words barraging her vulnerable neck. It's as if her nervous system is trying to invoke gravity, forcing nouns, adjectives, verbs to tumble off of her askew shoulders. It's too late. Each letter, its blunt, blocky shape, forces its way into her pores.
Little blonde boy,
Where did you go?
So sweet, loving and innocent,
Unblemished and whole.
Facebook has gone through another round of appearance changes – call them "facelifts" if you want – bringing with them the now-traditional flurry of complaints about the changes. While many have complained about usability issues, most of the gripes seem focused on privacy concerns.
Another Republican presidential debate was held on Sept. 22. This round, hosted by Fox News and Google, included Bret Baier, Megyn Kelly and Chris Wallace as moderators.
The town is deserted. The noon sun blazes down as MacIntyre and I face each other in the hot, dusty street. The leather hat with its silver trim shades my eyes, and I can feel the energy of its curse humming in my bones.