and there’s no article left.
i'm guessing he "forced to write", only for $$$$.
I count at least eleven metaphor-paragraphs.
Subtract them from this... screed... and there’s no article left.
It’s like the writer swerved to miss a cow on the road while taking his last puff on a cigarette before the bars closed at the end of a long day while the tide was coming in and the leaves were turning color.
Zing!
This is what happens when you publish negroes, not because they have something worthwhile to say, but just because they are negro.