O Saint Paul, what sting is death supposed to have? If it weren’t getting cold outside, a bee-sting would seem more imminent to me.
There is no word in the modern vocabulary so abused as the word “freedom” (with the notable exception of “literally,” the misuse of which figuratively kills me).
The mass shooting has become the signature horror of our time and place. Such events have become monstrously common, and yet we seem to understand them no better today than we did twenty years ago.