Love in the Ruins [antikvár]

In a pine grove on the southwest cusp of the interstate cloverleaf 5 p.m. / July 4 Now IN THESE DREAD LATTER DAYS of the old violent bcloVCd U.S.A. and of the Christ-forgetting Christ-haunted death-dealing Western world I came to myself in a grove of young pines and the question came to me: has it happened at last? Two more hours should tell the story. One way or the other. Either I am right and a catastrophe will occur, or it won't and I'm crazy. In either case the outlook is not so good. Here I sit, in any case, against a young pine, broken out in hives and waiting for the end of the world. Safe here for the moment though, flanks protected by a rise of ground on the left and an approach ramp on the right. The carbine lies across my lap. Just below the cloverleaf, in the ruined motel, the three girls are waiting for me. Undoubtedly something is about to happen. Or is it that something has stopped happening? Is it that God has at last removed his blessing from the U.S.A. and what we feel now is just the clank of the old historical machinery, the sudden jerking ahead of the roller-coaster cars as the July Fourth / 3