Robert Benincasa

As the temperature in Grand Island, Neb., soared to 91 degrees that July day in 2018, two dozen farmworkers tunneled for nine hours into a thicket of cornstalks, snapping off tassels while they crossed a sunbaked field that spanned 206 acres — the equivalent of 156 football fields.

A single flip-flop. An empty Chick-fil-A sandwich bag. A mattress. A sneaker, navy with a white sole. A little orange bouncy ball.

Garbage is strewn among thigh-high drifts of dirt, used to bury the filthy, weather-worn items at the Orange County Landfill in Florida and prevent the intrusion of insects, rats and pigs. Bulldozers smooth the dirt into place while tractor-trailers deliver ever more trash. Vultures and seagulls circle above. A bald eagle lands nearby.

The transition from a Trump administration that dismantled regulations across the federal government to a Biden administration that has signaled a greater emphasis on occupational safety and the environment may finally mean new action on a toxic form of dust in coal mines.

In a summer of unrest over police violence, you might think that suing the police is a way for the families of those killed to get justice. It can be, but the amount of justice available — in monetary settlements from cities and towns — may depend on the local politics of where the killing happened.

Congressional investigators are launching an inquiry into a handful of companies that landed government contracts related to COVID-19, calling the deals "suspicious" because the companies lacked experience and, in some cases, had political connections to the Trump administration.

When nurses and doctors across the country were struggling to treat coronavirus patients without enough protective gear, and the federal government was scrambling to find those supplies, Quedon Baul saw an opportunity.

His three-person company in McKinney, Texas, distributes medical supplies but didn't have much experience with face shields. Still, he landed two government contracts worth up to $20 million to deliver the personal protective equipment. He couldn't meet the first deadline, so he found subcontractors to do the job.

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With traffic dramatically down in recent months, the United States is in the middle of an accidental experiment showing what happens to air pollution when millions of people stop driving.

Updated at 9:00 a.m. ET

Michelle Sweeney could barely sleep. The nurse in Plymouth, Mass., had just learned she would be furloughed. She only had four hours the next day to call all of her patients.

"I was in a panic state. I was sick over it," Sweeney said. "Our patients are the frailest, sickest group."

Sweeney works for Atrius Health as a case manager for patients with chronic health conditions and those who have been discharged from the hospital or emergency room.

Updated at 10:10 p.m. ET

One month ago today, President Trump declared a national emergency.

In a Rose Garden address, flanked by leaders from giant retailers and medical testing companies, he promised a mobilization of public and private resources to attack the coronavirus.

"We've been working very hard on this. We've made tremendous progress," Trump said. "When you compare what we've done to other areas of the world, it's pretty incredible."

But few of the promises made that day have come to pass.

Coal mining companies owned by West Virginia Gov. Jim Justice and his family have agreed to pay the government more than $5 million in delinquent mine safety fines, the Justice Department says.

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