"and have I mentioned the wind out here? The sound it makes though cracks in the windows? Or the heat? Or the enormous mass of these tiny cruciform rural towns with exactly one intersection that appear to consist entirely of a grain silo and a gas station with names like Arrowsmith, Anthony, Shirley, Tolono, Stayne? There's a town called Big Thistle near here. Repeat: Big Thistle, Illinois. And the humidity. Towels don't dry; your windshield gets condensation like a glass of iced tea if you run the AC on the way in. The sky the color of motel ice - no color, no depth. It's like a bad dream. And the flatness. What's the horizon at sea level, eighteen miles?"
even outside of its larger conversation, this paragraph achieves something great - the list of towns even, paints the correct picture of some horrible Midwest rurality. Repeat: Big Thistle.
but maybe i just have a huge crush on David Foster.
Molly's blog is going off much more than mine is right now, please direct your errant attention to her.
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