The road was easy, a stretch of slick darkness running through yellow and brown fields. They sometimes passed houses crouching in oncoming crepuscular light, and it was like a painting of the dark interior of this country. Houses stripped by the wind and lesser fortune: white clapboard or crumbling brick; low, dark roofs; large front windows or slits of gold light in falling evening. Hills rose fitfully at the turns in the road, wild grass tufted out of their backs like fur. There were scraggly trees and frayed rope hanging from their branches and large tires sitting in yards or propped
...more
