James Baldwin wrote a book called "The Fire Next Time." This was the fire before that somewhere in rural America where phone and electric lines are held up by poles as tall as trees and faded billboards still decorate the skyline, advertising motels that are no longer open. It looked as though the earth had become molten and the sky itself a blanket of glowing gas. But it was only sunset on a clear November evening on a good road to nowhere where the only sound that could be heard was a single car escaping the from scorched earth, heading for a place of peace for the night. 

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