Paul Mariani

How old the story is, we have come to see, and yet how true. The kid’s back home at last, knowing he’s lost everything the old man gave him, spent on booze and one-night stands, a sucker for every sob story his friends had found to separate him from what they saw as their inheritance. . . . . Continue Reading »

In the hot Washington afternoon, in one of those endlessly bustling government offices, there sits a man named Michael J. Astrue, the fifty-four-year-old head of the Social Security Administration. Competent, organized, bald, and busy, he is not a politician, exactly, but one of those people who . . . . Continue Reading »