Word: nevadas
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...smell of pine cut into my sleep in the late afternoon and I could hear the truck whining against a steep incline. I pushed open the back gate and the Sierra Nevada, red in the setting sun, passed by like a slow-moving train. The forest was hypnotic, nothing moved out there in the dark green silence. Darkness came in from the east, and falling back to sleep, I wondered what it was like in the Far East to have the morning sun come up over the Pacific, to have the mountains cast their shadow over the west...
...PURPLISH patches of sky that dropped back behind the Sierra Nevada were lost in the fast-moving lights of Reno. The streets were deserted when we got in about 8 p.m. but by that time the action was furious inside the casinos. The truck pulled over at an intersection and the driver said they'd be staying at the University of Nevada for the night and we were welcome to come but they couldn't guarantee a room. I was more inclined to keep on and another guy I hadn't really talked to decided to go with...
...walked for about 20 minutes, sticking out our thumbs whenever some drunkard passed us, hoping to get a ride back to the University of Nevada. We were getting close to town when a Mustang glided up out of the dark on the other side of the road, went about 20 yards past us and then made a smooth eerie U-turn and slid up right along side...
...silver studded jeans jacket leaned out the window and cooed sweetly. "Are you boys looking for a ride?" Yeah, we were looking for a ride alright, and we took the ride. It turned out those guys--there were two of them--were from some obscure part of Nevada looking for some Action and they wanted to know if we knew where it was. We told them we just wanted to get to the university, that we had good friends there. They took us right there, but the conversation on the way was a little strained, mostly punctuated by "Ooohs...
...least a couple of hundred miles. Our driver was a squat, hairy toothless Canadian freak. He laughed like a leprechaun--in great volumes of uncontagious cackles--and he cursed his car at every knock. He wouldn't put it over 50 mph and the hard-iron hills of Nevada clanked by slowly. Huge white letters were carved into the hills--the only signs to tell one town from another as they filtered...