I am tired of the caliche dust that puffs up fine as smoke at the slightest breath of breeze or tire roll. I am worn by the drone of the diesels and the clatter of empty tankers. 13 Sundays have passed since our last time off.

Out before daylight this morning, the Carharrt Vest felt good at 48 degrees and a wind out of the northwest at 12. The weatherman can’t make up his mind

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