We hate revolutionaries, radicals, and free-thinkers until they're dead at which time we build memorials celebrating their greatness. 

The neighbors' overheard conversations were Connie's only link to the outside world. 

The couch became a liferaft from which even the kitchen with all its culinary delights seemed oceans away and much too far to attempt to reach. 

Her thoughts drifted like the darkening clouds outside and soon memories struck like a thunderclap that shook her from her dreaming. 

 Self-aggrandizement is the only currency left. 

 The world is on fire but thankfully we have celebrities to gawk at. 

It had become an American story replayed ad infinitum.