America 250: Better an Insane Asylum Than a Morgue
The United States is turning 250. As I write this, sprawled out in a shallow inflatable pool in my yard, a gull-winged WWII-era Corsair has just thundered low over the trees. The rumble of warbirds has been rolling across the sky all day. It stirs a feeling deep inside me, not of sentiment but of a potent mix of dopamine and adrenaline and gunpowder. A feeling of danger and excitement verging on psychosis. My head is swimming from the heat, and I feel like I am going insane. I love it.
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The United States is turning 250. As I write this, sprawled out in a shallow inflatable pool in my yard, a gull-winged WWII-era Corsair has just thundered low over the trees. The rumble of warbirds has been rolling across the sky all day. It stirs a feeling deep inside me, not of sentiment but of a potent mix of dopamine and adrenaline and gunpowder. A feeling of danger and excitement verging on psychosis. My head is swimming from the heat, and I feel like I am going insane. I love it. Read Full Article ⟶
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