Tuesday, December 7, 2004

Thoughts on flags

Each morning on the ride into work, I pass the tattered remains of a thousand flags. They flap, forgotten, from car radio antennas that sift Howard Stern and Rush Limbaugh from the airwaves.

They cry out, "We are what remains of your glorious liberty; that which you left to wither in the wind so that you might smugly pronounce your patriotism."

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