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Marilyn Snell
Club 9, Pioneertown
It's midnight in the Mojave, the land on both sides of the highway all mooned up and flat. I'm doing 90 past B Western turn-offs like Roy Rogers Way and Rawhide Road, closing in on Pioneertown, and I'm getting that spirituous feeling that hits my lower chest every time the humidity dips to zero, the horizon depopulates and widens, and I start to catch the dusty-rain scent of chaparral—all pure conjurers of my Arizona childhood.
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