“As you ride along the dusty road in the rickety old family truck, you feel your dad slow down and soon come to a stop. Craning your neck out the window, you see a trio of men, masks covering most of their face and rifles slung on their shoulders walk towards the truck. You hear Mama quieting your older brother and younger sister, woken up by the lull in motion from the bouncy road. You have heard stories of these men, of how they stop innocent families and travelers and make them disappear.
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This gives me hope. And it feels like a kind of blueprint.
Am I crazy?