October 2003
1 post
America's First Serial Killer
It’s a windy day in Philadelphia—so windy, men’s ties flip and twist like fish and women search the bottom of their crowded pocketbooks for hair bands. It’s not cold out, but people scurry as if they’re in a blizzard, surprised by the breezes that bend tree trunks and make stoplights wobble. It’s a strange, surreal day—overcast and quiet. People go...