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July 17, 2005

The Eschatologist: A Lonely Road

Fourty-one days and colder nights we all spent on that hiccuping old Trailways, listening to static on the FM with occassional noise patterns. It sure sounded like morse code, but no one on board could tell. Twice a week I sat my shift on her roof, scanning the highway for traffic, pleading for any soul to pop out and yell surprise! Still, I didn't lose hope, not even after the twelfth abandoned mom-n-pop shop, and when I did have free time, eating candy that would never be made again, I just smiled at the world gone bye.

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