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The approach through New Jersey was like those dreams you get when you have the flu, the ones where your mind goes busy and rotten and you feel like your life will go on like this forever.
Bent laid his jaw in his palm and slumped against the window while Gina drove the last miles. He had never seen anyplace so sick and tired and sad. They passed dead factories and empty sidings and mean streets where for some reason people still lived.
Then they rounded a curve and there it was, the shining island. The size and scale of it made him almost afraid. He lay back and closed his eyes against the morning sun. The clock on the dash said 8:35 but it was later than that.
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