Part I
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The night the harbor burned, Raymond Flynn sued for peace. Over the radio, his voice cracked and wobbled and finally broke—not with emotion, the broadcast was too staticky for that, but with the particular failure of a man who’d run out of options and also, apparently, out of words. He surrendered the city at 11:47…
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It was the color of a thing that’d forgotten it was ever cream. A pallor, the white of old milk or a blind eye, gone gray and thin as a shroud. The checkered border, once red or blue, faded to a color somewhere between bruise and shadow. It’d been boiled too many times in water…
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10 January 1995 Broadcast from the White House, Washington, District of Columbia, via whatever means remain My fellow Americans. I am speaking to you tonight from the White House. The signal is being carried by whatever transmitters are still standing, by ham radio operators who have kept their equipment dry, by the military frequencies that…
