Everybody knows when the Nineties ended.
But even before that, there were signs erupting like night flares: blackouts in California, on the East Coast--praise be to Allah for showing the Americans what it's like, even if only for a few hours. And the thing I remember is thinking how fast it would all go, if it went. That was when I knew. Sign of the end days.
June 14, 2004. Didn't have the same cultural ring to it--9/11, now that meant something to an American. That was the number you dialed in an emergency. It meant something. The irony cut right to the fucking bone.
Don't look at me that way. Just because you know the history of that date doesn't mean we did. The only reason you know it is because of the bombings.
They say Governor Schwarzenegger faced down a missile himself, like he really was the last action hero. 'course, it blew him right to shit and back again. Like the poem says, the man on the tv screen didn't get up again.
They closed the polls that year. There were no elections. For the good of the nation. Martial law, to keep us safe.
November second didn't end a decade. It began a revolution.
