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Deja vu in the smoking car, Czech-looking woman on her way
to Wisconsin, the conductor young, trim, groomed casual and cool. He came
down fast when he smelled my clove cigarettes; suspecting grass he examined
the pack. (The way to do it is load the tip so after the first hit it's legit.)
"Is this the line where they used to shoot buffalo?" I ask. "Yes. This was
it." The three of us look out the window, seeing ghosts. Objects in the
foreground tend to blur and in their rapid dark passing you can imagine the
herd. It took only 4 years and then they were gone to make way for beef,
the bones sold for buttons, horns for trophies. Powerlust and greed, half
the world's grain goes to cattle feed while we are forcefed the lie that
we have to live high atop the food pyramid,
growing addicted so a handful
can profit. |
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