On Being Wrong (And Admitting It)
Back when I cast my vote for George W. Bush, I was 21 years old, voting in my first presidential election. I was wrong about a lot of shit back then.
I’m probably still wrong about a lot of shit now. Though less, I hope, than when I was 21.
Her fury, her hurt, her fear and shame was pure focus. She dug deeper into her legs. The blood began to run down her thighs, soaking through her dress and forming a small puddle in the pew.