The hour was indecent again—the kind that makes the world sound hollow. Same lobby, same hum. I’d promised myself I’d never meet him twice, but ghosts don’t honor boundaries; they find a crack in your resolve and call it a doorway. Roy Cohn was already sitting there. No announcement, no chill, just presence. He looked freshly dead, which was impressive after forty years. “Don’t act surprised,” he said. “You people keep invoking me. Every time someone shouts down a fact or sneers at empathy, I get the call.” He smiled the way a courtroom smiles after a conviction. “I told you,” he said, “I don’t haunt places. I haunt behavior.” Cohn and Joseph McCarthy He began as a prodigy of menace. At twenty-three, Cohn helped prosecute Julius and Ethel Rosenberg for espionage. Evidence was thin, but spectacle was thick, and he made sure the execution went forward. Two dead parents were résumé material in 1950s Washington. The Justice Department noticed his appetite for intimidation, and Senator Jose...
Flat tires suck, especially when you've been working extra shifts to get a color TV so you can finally watch "Bewitched"...IN LIVING COLOR! Oh shoot, Stevie Wonder's on right now singing his new song, check it out! In actuality, I took this shot of the 1971 Ford LTD in an alley behind a classic car repair shop nearby. Ain't it something? I'm sure that baby's going to get shined up and fixed and will probably sell for more than I make in a year - and I don't even mind. Rich people can do their rich people thing. All I care about is enjoying life as much as I can, same as all of you. Happy Open Post, darlings! Photo: AK
In 1884, a grieving widow named Sarah Winchester arrived in sunny San Jose, California, carrying an immense inheritance that was said to have been cursed. Her husband, William Winchester, was dead, claimed by tuberculosis. Their infant daughter, Annie, had died at one month due to a rare form of severe malnutrition. The source of her wealth was the Winchester rifle, a weapon that had filled her coffers and graveyards around the country. Sarah bought a modest eight-room farmhouse and began designing and building. She never stopped. According to lore, for nearly forty years, hammers echoed day and night as rooms bloomed. dissolved, and were reimagined like restless dreams. When a hallway displeased her, she ordered it razed. When a design felt wrong, she simply rebuilt it. Stairs climbed into ceilings. Doors opened into thin air. Windows looked into walls. The house grew the way a thought spirals when it cannot find peace or passes through the mind like vapor. Maybe it was gri...
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