Boston
SOCIAL CONSCIOUSNESS isn’t typically my bag. Not that I’m self-centered, but thinking about oppressed peoples of the world takes away from valuable me-time. Every now and then, however, one’s sense of justice is so violated when witnessing freedoms so ruthlessly trampled, that there is no choice but to loosen the shackles, to storm the barricades, and to do other things that sound like Pete Seeger lyrics.
A few days ago, I received a call from the Atlantic Monthly‘s Joshua Green. Josh is typically a sunny guy. The world loves him, he loves it right back. But the troubled voice on the other end of the line wasn’t the Josh I knew. This Josh, it seemed, was nursing an injury: he had hit his head on a glass ceiling.
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