Beingi n the town is prosaic, sensuous, alcoholic. And in the dark, the town is yours and you are the town’s andtogether you sleep like the dead, like the very stones in your north field. There is no life here but the slow death of days, and so when the evil falls on the town, its coming seems almost preordained, sweet and morphic. It is almost as though the town knows the evil was coming and the shape it would take.
-Stephen King
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