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Nation of Airports 01.02
On Highway 50 through ElDorado National Forest, Michael's car climbed the hills at exhilarating speed. The forest roads weren't lit and turns came with little warning. The car held the road and he avoided the brakes. Speed was one of Michael's vices. Traffic had been heavy well past Sacramento, three hours of grinding, tedious driving. Now the mountain roads intoxicated him. His music player, plugged into the car's sound system, shuffled a long good set of up-tempo rock and hip-hop, heavy with bass. He felt carefree and happy.
The road came out from trees to hug the wall of a narrow ravine falling away to his right. Wispy clouds floated level with him, platinum in the light of the half moon. At night mountains wear martial colors, Michael thought, somber grays and greens of soldiers. The clouds watched him as he rose above them, a promise of flight, a threat of falling.
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