by Jamie Dettmer

About the author: Jamie Dettmer is a senior editor for politics and investigative news at Z, a semimonthly conservative news magazine.

The lost souls are out tonight. Again. They’re out every night. Every day. On street corners fronting boarded-up row houses. In alleyways between ugly, squat projects. They slouch. They loiter. They shuffle in their Babylon with dying eyes in the dead of night, their youth imprisoned in wrecked bodies. They become really alert for only two things—for a passing squad car or a dealer and the chance to score so they can snort, smoke, mainline or chase the poison—cocaine, heroin, marijuana—that’s shattered their lives into biochemical shards. And behind them, incredibly, looms the dome of the Congress of the United States of America...