"SOMETIME IN THE dawn hours of the first day of a post-American life, passing from a brief moment of hopefulness into the outer fringes of what-ever it is that's coming, Hicks has been dreaming he's someplace back on the prairie, in an old lopsided telephone booth warped by the wind, snowed and hailed on, run into by cars and farm wagons, assaulted by hungry drifters looking for all those nickels in the box."
— Nov 03, 2025 06:26PM
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