Should art be a battleground for social justice?

Inside Tesla’s factory, a medical clinic designed to ignore injured workers.

It was Hell.

On the death of David Carr.

A graveyard, a stutter, and Ray-Bans.

An Iowa sports radio pioneer turns scammer.

A profile of Joss Sackler.

A tiny Alaskan island faces a threat as deadly as an oil spill—rats.

There’s only ever so much you can control at any job.

On hometowns.

Inside an IRL cult built on Facebook memes and semen-drinking.

Our writer nearly drowns, 236 songs later.

Blast, impact, trauma, and everything that comes after traumatic brain injury.

A study of resilience in does and other female creatures.

On losing a brother and trying to get him home.

An adventure on an Alaskan glacier with a new best friend.

Inside Robert Sarver’s 17-year tenure as owner.

An essay drawn from the introduction of Davidson’s iconic book Subway, first published in 1986:

To prepare myself for the subway, I started a crash diet, a military fitness exercise program, and early every morning I jogged in the park. I knew I would need to train like an athlete to be physically able to carry my heavy camera equipment around in the subway for hours every day. Also, I thought that if anything was going to happen to me down there I wanted to be in good shape, or at least to believe that I was. Each morning I carefully packed my cameras, lenses, strobe light, filters, and accessories in a small, canvas camera bag. In my green safari jacket with its large pockets, I placed my police and subway passes, a few rolls of film, a subway map, a notebook, and a small, white, gold-trimmed wedding album containing pictures of people I’d already photographed in the subway. In my pants pocket I carried quarters for the people in the subway asking for money, change for the phone, and several tokens. I also carried a key case with additional identification and a few dollars tucked inside, a whistle, and a small Swiss Army knife that gave me a little added confidence. I had a clean handkerchief and a few Band-Aids in case I found myself bleeding.

An execution in war-torn Cuba.

A cancer doctor on losing his wife to cancer.

On childhood amnesia, or why we don’t remember much before age seven.

On Daphne du Maurier and her novel, Rebecca.

Ruth Thalí became an overnight sensation on a game show. Then she disappeared.

An epilogue to Serpico.