Craig Tyson Adams

Pursuing the life of a pug. A boxer. The smell of sweat and deprivation matched the humidity and heat from the lights. There had to be a better way of making a living. That time has passed. Once the taste was acquired, it was all over. I could smell the leather before it hit me. The twist of the hide tore at the flesh, leaving it raw only to be hit again. My arms ache after weeks of repetition and work. The effort that lasted until there was nothing left, only to push it further. The dull feeling of energy quickly dissipating made the body wish it had not consumed so much fast food hidden against orders. The time that should’ve been used to do more roadwork, as the endurance and lung capacity are now being felt at maximum capacity.  A flash of bright light makes me realize I need to bob and weave and move my head as another flash, while I think, tells me to hurry. My calves scream, but my thighs and back are moving perfectly in unison.  A spray of blood surprises me but then ...

There are a lot of  protesting  protesters these days. It seems that protesting has become the thing to do again. Protesting is more popular today than it has been since the late 1960’s and early 70’s.  On college campuses, the streets outside government buildings and in town halls, large cities and small communities have experienced Americans of all walks of life protesting and demonstrating against issues real, and, at times, imagined. “We’re protesting because we don’t like what is going on!” said one protester who was protesting at a protest. “There are so many injustices that there are almost too many to count!” exclaimed another protester at one other protest. “The only way that someone can get their voice heard is through demonstration, picketing and protesting!” yet another protester proclaimed at yet another protest. There is another side to all the protesting. “We’re here to exercise our right to protest all the protesters who are protesting!” expressed an anti-...