The air was stale from hours of driving with the windows up. On the horizon the farm house floated into view. The sun was dying behind the chimney and the clouds circled the roof.
It was anger that spilled over the kitchen table. Years of half truths and raised fists. Corn fields provided no sense of direction or comfort. Time was collecting what it was owed and the fear set camp in each of our brains.
Sodium vapor lamps popped on as a uneasy silence strangled the kitchen.
Tonight all of this was going to end.
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