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Smog hung all around the horizon.
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The sun on the bright, beige countryside was painful.
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She and the Chevy seemed parked
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at the center of an odd religious instant,
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as if on some other frequency,
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or out of the eye of some whirlwind rotating too slow for her heated
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skin even to feel the centrifugal coolness of words were being spoken.
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She suspected that much.
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She thought of Mucho, her husband, trying to believe in his job.
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Was it something like this he felt
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looking through the soundproof glass at one of his colleagues
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with a headset clamped on and cueing the next record