By Howie Good
It was the end of the American Century, and as if at a secret signal, the streets suddenly filled up with dancing grannies. I looked into their doll-like painted faces for an explanation. What I saw instead were suicide nets, abortions by wire coat hanger, piles of broken bricks. Life in our little town was becoming more and more like life elsewhere – a movie trailer for the Apocalypse. I would shake my head in an attempt to get rid of the disturbing images, but every morning children would once again be walking past the slaughterhouse on their way to school.