CLICK
The most terrifying truth is not who pulls the strings, but that there are no strings, only a paying audience.
The Ticket Stub
The dead man was on his back behind a water cooler with his tie pulled sideways and his mouth full of teeth he would never again use to complain about parking validation. I knew him as Gerald Fitch, assistant deputy in the Department of Something That Tendered Bids, which is the only kind of assistant deputy a reporter ever meets. I knew him the way I knew all of them: a name, an office number, a habit of taking a donut at the same time every morning. I was crouched over him in a stairwell that