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EASTBOUND ALL-AMERICAN FREEWAY Christine Gosnay
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the world was flush with grass and tar ambitions below and within the concrete bloomed like little daisies
__ This piece was written recklessly on the steering wheel of a moving vehicle on a day when the temperature was so high that the horizon ceased to be, and it looked like the earth would sizzle and promptly swallow up anything that stopped moving across it for too long. The shoulders and medians and surfaces of four-lane highways tend to have their own personalities on days like that. |