We Are Charlie, But We Are Also The Killers
When three gunmen walked into Charlie Hebdo offices Wednesday morning and executed 12 people, eight of whom were journalists, they made…
When three gunmen walked into Charlie Hebdo offices Wednesday morning and executed 12 people, eight of whom were journalists, they made…
Everywhere you go, you are being tracked. The cell phone in your pocket records your daily commute, which bars you visit, who you talk to and what you tell them via text.
If we can do that—if we can look into our communities and give ourselves another reason to vote, to care—then enough of us might show up to tilt the balance of power, to give ourselves a voice.
I wanted to go again. I wanted another fix of that thrill, the open freedom that only life on the road can give you. It didn’t matter that I’d only been home six weeks—I missed it.
It seems that waiting has been a key part of everything I’ve ever tried to accomplish.
Unless you are a doctor, or maybe a carpenter, or any other skill that is badly needed in the day to day running of a child care organization, you may end up doing more harm than good.
Morgan frowned. Chris’ approach sounded awfully Freudian, without measurable action steps.
Boys danced friskily in drum circles around bright, ceramic idols of Hindu gods; colorfully clad woman pushed past each other among seas of roadside stalls emitting wonderful and awful smells; rickshaw drivers swerved inches around us.
Debt is the sacrifice made so that the next generation can move up.
He told me that his wife was dead, his kids were gone, and so were most of his friends. He had no friends, really. He told me he reads all day to pass the time, that it felt like the world had left him behind.