Laura and I had spent my birthday in Chicago, and were headed home. It was snowing pretty hard, big, heavy flakes turning to water as soon as they hit the ground. We took Highway 88 back toward Iowa, taking it easy, knowing we needed to use some caution. About an hour outside Chicago, we began to notice that beyond the lines of scrub trees along the highway, everything looked pixelated, like the programmers hadn’t filled in the edges of the map we were playing on. We were quiet, contemplating the nature of life. Was there anything out there? We didn’t stop to find out.
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