Blood Money and Reveries
Walking through a parade for the blind
Imagine: a single moment waited 63 years for me, hidden in a blue shoebox. And when I say a moment, I mean it: a sixtieth of a second, maybe less.
I wasn’t there for it back when it happened. I wasn’t even born.
The moment I’m talking about — and which I’m going to talk about (boy am I ever) — takes place in 1951. That’s a few short years after World War II, when human beings tore each other apart in all kinds of new ways, six years that…