In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

50 A Murmur of Birds In the hot belly of a summer morning the assembly hall filled. All the audience was children. Nothing was air-conditioned. Brochures for colleges were used as fans and sweat swam in mingling pools between thighs and necks. After an hour or so of waiting, of laughter turning to yawning, turning to grunting “shits” and passing outs in aisles, the speaker began to speak of apocalyptics and of service to man. The Power Point slid between severed baby heads, chicken wired clits, and other noble causes. The speaker was both a handsome Caucasian male and a fiery Asian woman who knew how to sell it. The Asian yelled and the white guy cried apologies. The children napped. They knew this all already. The had taken some of the photos themselves. They could spot their fathers’ handiwork anywhere. They knew it all and knew by now they would forget it all in any moment that might matter. Their wisdom was as headstone as their hearts. Some began to look out at the flaking black charcoal sky and wonder what the dining hall was serving for lunch. A couple of the kids started fucking. They wanted to get all this over with. ...

Share