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I take the next plane out. Yes, you’re thinking a solar-powered train would be better for the environment, but the President’s actions pushed renewable energy so far back behind the curtain that the new administration is just now looking at proposals.
“I know, I look like s**t,” Mandy says when her driver deposits me at her door. I don’t know how many acres she owns in the Black Hills, but we drove through miles of diseased pine and birch without seeing anyone. Still the air is clear and there is some type of green ferny vegetation that smells clean. I step out, breathe the fresh air, and almost choke, my lungs not being used to it.
Mandy really does look like crap. Always thin, she’s skeletal now, her eyes haunted brown pools. Her hair is still thick and blond, but I suspect it’s a
