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The fucked up thing about dry cleaning is that I can never completely remember if I just dropped something off or picked it up.  Regardless, I had a pack of matches in my pocket from my buddy’s wedding and it came from my dry cleaning, wherever the hell it was.  I hopped into my truck and drove north.  Through the choking traffic and caustic fumes of car exhaust into the barren black hills that are all that remained after the wildfires. ... Read More