Chuck always ends up waxing poetic around his trainees. About how professional wrestling is a dance—a violent choreography of chokeholds and suplexes, timed to the tune of their bookers' ... [+]
Murmurations
Of rippling ribbons
Against rain-full skies
Above the stubble fields
Of slump-shouldered towns
Where restaurant dining
Is fries in paper bags
And shopping consists
Of convenience store trips.
There, the main allure,
Aladdin's magic lamp,
Is the Interstate sign
Pointing the way out.