scene on a bridge. mister started this, smooshing through the handrails, some time ago, and it still delights us.
i started reading the torture machine. doesn't that seem a million miles from this scene? well it is. same city, same world. uncanny, what this world can foster and contain. 
wonder if i'll make it through the book, the labyrinthine world of state repression, murder and the cruel theater of law.i want to see it to the end, or the present, see what mr. flint says about the police murders of late, and the idea of opening police academies in shut schools. the academics of torture. i know i will make the above scene again, soon, maybe within the hour. also i left my swamp thing exposed by the green grass of the spring. i'll see if the protector is still there.