I’m a little under the weather (even Vampires get under sometimes) so rather than trying to make up something fictional for today I’ll just tell you a story about my brother Val and me, then give you some high-minded moralistic opinion about the state of American culture.
It was October 1963 and we were driving Val’s black 1962 Corvette down Hwy 395, along the back side of the Sierra Nevada Mountains. We stopped in the small town of Lee Vining at dusk, wondering if we should stop for the night or keep going.
I got out of the car and looked up at the mountains. After I took off my scarf I held it up and let the breeze make it into a flag. Everything smelled so fresh. The mountains were so beautiful I couldn’t take my eyes off of the sight.
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