November 15, 2004

Dear Mr. Bush,

A man set himself on fire outside your house today. Were you even told? Did you care? When he lit himself aflame, what were you doing? Was it something important? For his sake, I hope so.

Are there nights where the aching reality of everything that's come to pass because of your actions hits you all at once? Nights where you cry out for Laura to wake up, hoping that she'll hold you until the dull pain in your heart subsides? Nights where shadows of those that are no longer here stalk you as you huddle under your sheets? Will tonight, with the acrid scent of charred flesh still lingering outside your window the way it hovers outside the windows of millions in Iraq, be one of those nights?

Don't let the bed bugs bite,



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