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Somewhere in Maine a boy waits for my phone call. I can’t call because I can’t move.
We just have to want to and to think hard about it and then we can lift over the wheat fields and fuzzy orange cattle, one. . .
/ guards falling asleep
/ a. . .
What would it look like for Silicon Valley’s elite to find its soul?
On The Report and the history of the CIA onscreen
Transit workers are ideally positioned to push down on the levers of power