You and I may get smoked, but the fat cats will dine on peacock tongues
By Joe Bageant
It is 7 am, already hot as hell and another code red day. I am cresting Mount Weather on Route 7 Virginia and into the face of a blood red sun behind a pink sticky haze that makes commuting so ghostlike here during the dog days of August. The code red is an atmospheric pollution rating, not a Homeland Security alert. It means the air is not safe to breathe unless you have to.