• 96

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    The trail that’s been “blazed” seems to get more and more blazed as you lead your team of oxen on underneath the light of the autumn sun – so much so that the path becomes burnt and black as coal. But it’s so surprisingly smooth and easier on your wheels.

    Then you notice a sign. A metal sign with a perfect blue paint job and six or seven square pictures. The pictures are too much for you to take in and decipher but you do recognize the word “Food” printed on the sign along with the words “Follow” and “Exit” beneath the pictures. Not far ahead is another sign, green this time with the word “EXIT” again, hovering over another path that separates from the main thoroughfare.

    “Well, this must be what the Indians were talking about.” So you make the turn and find a number of garish and motley buildings like nothing you’d ever seen, a town of circus establishments. Or something. You decide to go inside the one with the owner’s name on the front, Carl Jr., and what you see (and smell) begins to jar your memory.

    “Can I take your order?”

    “Um, yeah…yeah, I’ll have the guacamole bacon burger on sourdough if possible and I’ll have tomatoes, pickles, mayo…and natural cut fries.”

    Although when you’re waiting for your order, you notice something seriously out of place.

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    Go to page 36.

     

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