think about driving down a highway in the middle of summer. the air is hot and dry and the wind whips through the quartet of gaping windows. the doobie brothers’ “listen to the music” blares, but you only hear patches of trebly sounds through the wind. mile after mile of flat farmland come and go. the only event of any significance occurs when you wipe the hair from your brow at each horizon. the future is unknown, your rearview mirror is broken, and you shift positions slightly as “dixieland”’s initial notes sink into your skull.
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