“Fortune favors the brave.” But I am not brave. Too tired, aggrieved, for that world to matter. I’d rather speak of far out stars, shining possibilities not likely to knock upon my hovel door. “The poor have always been among us.” So long as we measure brother against brother on a scale of credit and debt. Who gets to order the jet? Who gets ever more desperate to cheat the street of bludgeon meat, to die, unseen, unnamed, or miserably live confined to a prison cell or other faux hell? A crow and carrion show, so everyone will know the wages of failure to fit on some narrow queue. How dissuade mad conspirers’ cynical sway? How expose knavery, encourage true bravery? Reify kindness, heal blinding hate?