A word to the wise is infuriating.

Maybe it meant something. Maybe not, in the long run, but no explanation, no mix of words or music or memories can touch that sense of knowing that you were there and alive in that corner of time and the world. Whatever it meant.

North Vegas is where you go if you're a hooker turning forty and the syndicate men on the strip decide you're no longer much good for business out there with the high rollers.

I believe the Republicans have never thought that democracy was anything but a tribal myth.

I never knew where I was going, but I ripped the tits off of everything that got in my way. By the time they figured me out, it was too late.

No, this is not a good town for psychedelic drugs. Reality itself is too twisted.

As far as I'm concerned, it's a damned shame that a field as potentially dynamic and vital as journalism should be overrun with dullards, bums, and hacks, hag-ridden with myopia, apathy, and complacence, and generally stuck in a bog of stagnant mediocrity.