Kelleher piloted the small motorboat out of Mullaghmore’s famous stone harbor to establish an alibi. McMahon and McGirl, the IRA men, sat stiffly in the back . . .
2015 News & Features
Here I am, ten minutes after five in the a.m., standing on Fowler Street, one of Trenton’s meanest, a shit-eating grin on my face. How did I get here? It’s like this . . .
Right when I thought things were getting better, the stranger showed up . . .
January in the North Country—the dark comes on quick. In the moonrise, the skeletal branches of the birch trees throw thin shadows on the glowing blue snow . . .
JR was a precocious boy who loved to watch TV . . .
It’s three in the morning, the orange sulfur lamps bleach the black sky, and for a moment I think it’s the sun rising over the skyline, but then the darkness recedes back into my vision. It’s always night here; this place never sleeps . . .
I looked out my apartment window through the Venetian blinds down at a street full of shadows . . .
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