So, with my knees pierced by needles and my shoulder sewn together by the slender thread of endorphins, I keep to my genuflection and end my story the only way that really fits. As a...

Don’t you ever just think of yourself as American?

I don’t really know them, but I know this: they’re just like your kids were. Or are. Sweet, trusting, good in ways we adults hardly even remember. We have to look out for them. Not...

I get it, you know. I’m operating on privilege too. It may be a number of notches down from yours but it’s every bit as unearned. I think the trick is to never forget it.