Something about driving through the midwest always makes me think of Richard Hugo. I know that Richard Hugo is mostly known for the American Pacific Northwest but the sadness and simplicity of small industrial towns that no one ever really leaves is an international sort of thing, provided it is a town that has industry of some kind. There’s something that comes from taking a mineral-rich paradise and watching it degrade to a giant barren wasteland, whether it’s by the hand of winter or the hand of man or both, that makes me want to write letters to distant people that are both about everything I’m seeing and about none of it at all.


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