rudy

‘We don’t make the decisions do we, we just do what they say.’

What strikes me in this art is the contrast between a choice to be well-groomed and yet no apparent volition to assert an exclusive, uncommon reportage.

If ". . . trancing out.", lay behind the foundation of literature, maybe literature isn't worth much.

Physicists might now have an answer for the progression of time; It's there to outrun the fatuity of our past.

The more I think about this story the more I like it.

It doesn't have the 'KABOOM' of a shotgun blowing a target and stand all to pieces but, rather, the 'THWACK' of a dogged BB as it pierces, close to the bullseye, of it's targets plastic sheathing.

This is captivating as a sort of cleaner remaking of a Cagney or Bogart-esque scene.

Thought experiment:
If this one death, Stephen Lawrence's, were to lead to, on a societal level, an honest and fundamental shift away from racial prejudice, would the death be worth it?

Suffering always seems to bring about questions of 'To whom do we owe this misery?'

I really enjoyed this story while believing the narrator was 'the boy's' sister.

I lost interest upon finding 'the boy's' Dad was the narrator.

This essay is quite an adventure.

It Reminds me of a modern day "Casablanca."

And remember folks, our summer issue of 2115 will be "The P word";Is patriarchy entwined with prick?

I imagine your disconnection from the prisoners is similar to their disconnection from society.

For whatever reasons, the prisoners don't deal with their unlikeness very well.

Very nice read! Thanks for it!