I am reading a book called "The Bartender's Tale" by Ivan Doig.
It is set in the mid-west in 1960.
The following sentence dizzied me up this morning for it's stark truthfulness:
"Canada Dan was only one of the more habitual of the many who passed through the Medicine Lodge in the course of a year, the saloon and the Top Spot cafe and cheap rooms at the back of the hotel their way stations before the last stop of all, the cemetery on the hill overlooking Gros Ventre."
Hard, lonely lives summarized in a sentence.
Powerful stuff.
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