of the weary warrior. The last vestige of sanity in this world. The last voice of hope and freedom. The last place to stand and scream into the hurricane. The last homely house where you can sock your brother in the eye then slap him on the back while you pick up your own teeth. The final campaign. The last beacon before the darkness. The palace where kings are humbled and ne'er-do-wells do well. The last real corner of America. I love this place.
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