The Slow Death of Americana
The windshield wipers slosh away a light mix of rain and snow while I cut through the forested mountains of the Santiam Pass. Every fifteen minutes or so I pass through a small town with a population smaller than the amount of friends I have on Facebook (and I am no social media butterfly). The storefronts are nothing more than empty shacks made of rain-swollen wood and covered with moss since the local pizza place, burger shack, or general store closed down. Their populations have dwindled to almost nothing over the past twenty years. I know this because I grew up in one of these small towns.... read the rest here.
-Sean Davis(who I don't know but would like too) - recommended to me by another great writer and good friend, Katey Schultz.