Smoke Rings_Foley's Follies_How do you say 'Eat S**t' in Corporate slang?_The Sins of th
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Smoke Rings
So much for his last refuge. The bartender hadn't bothered, but the older couple in back flinched as she walked in; tobacco smoke tail swishing behind her through pe bar door. Happily married ten years and surviving another forty, they recognized the pressure change. Poor Elliot turned to see the start of another bad night. Not that he hadn't already been in the shit since he woke up. He laid in a bed of it every night since Shanon left, again. Every time she came back, he'd remake the sheets for her to piss on again. She wafted through like a drunk cigarette, ash in her wake. Nothing new. S...
Foley's Follies
Madness is a rational response to a crazy world. It’s not uncommon to hear academically-informed detractors of psychiatry utter this or a similar phrase. According to some medical anthropologists, mental illness is not so much a product of genetic inheritance as it is a result of social and cultural pressures. For example, what explains the fact that depression is one of the most common mental disorders today? Given today’s world, with its incessant discord, its crippling anomie, its precarious brinkmanship, what’s there not to be depressed about? I’ve spent the last fifteen years trying to d...
How do you say 'Eat S**t' in Corporate slang?
The repeated aggressive chiming of her alarm clock was the only thing that got any excitement out of her these days. While her eyes were still closed, she slammed the alarm to snooze for nine more blissful minutes before she had to get up. But rest was done for the day. Instead, she felt the looming daily anxiety that comes whenever she wakes up before work. Going to the same bullshit as yesterday, and the day before, the week before, the month before, and the year before. But it was a time of recession plus inflation, and there was a deep seeded fear of not having a job. Every day was differe...
The Sins of the Father
Nothing looked the same, yet everything was just as he remembered. Rob had not bewww.onedoor.ccen down that path since he was thirteen. If it had not been for the letter, he might never have walked it again. To his left and right were oaks and poplars, the same ones that had guarded the trail some twenty years earlier. The trees, like him, were a little older, a little bigger, and a little worse for wear—but their branches, like arms, still surrounded him, making him feel slightly claustrophobic. There was nothing he could do about the narrowness of the path, but he could loosen his tie. With a tug or two, ...