Excerpt:
A glow of light creeps over the eastern horizon. Its intensity heightens until the air is heavy with heat. Dust devils swirl along sheep trails that traverse the hills, while on flatlands yellow tufts of wheat grass bend with southwesterly winds. Across the flatland of washes and sagebrush, from east to west, cuts a single line of railroad tracks… The rails reflect the sun like mirrors, bright and blinding… Parallel to the tracks runs an old highway, cracked and buckled from the shifting shale sands, and next to it a sleek modern freeway, Interstate 70.
Where the old highway meets the interstate, at the narrowest point between the roads and the railroad, sits a meager cafe, an Amoco station, and a little community—two houses, three trailers and a horse corral, to be exact.
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