We middle-aged fools and we old fools can no longer dream. Visible underneath his collar were some metal tags. The temperature soared to one hundred degrees, sickeningly hot. Posts were offered to all who chose to accept them. She directed him to an old part of the highway, a featureless stretch of old farmhouses capped in snow, with the occasional working silo. On weighing the matter over, he grew so uneasy that he resolved to descend, and inform him of his misgivings.
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