Battle Mountain, Nevada got her thinking.
She wore a sweater of unknown odors from the past, woven in a gentle blur. They reminded her of days when she felt she was accomplishing something.
But reminiscences only aggravated her. Memories of more productive times did nothing to get her back on track.
The time had long passed to stop the destruction of the land.
She longed for a next step. A way to shape her indignation, channel her resentment into actions that would make a difference.
She wanted an enemy or two.
In Battle Mountain Nevada, she listened to the ragged whine of Interstate 80 and yearned for an idea.
