The road from Monroe to Vicksburg was straight and flat. Trailers of hay bales and yams, cotton fields and brown water bayous, black bear crossing signs, road killed raccoons and armadillos. After crossing the bridge spanning the mighty river, I read the sign about the siege during which Ulysses Grant shelled the city forcing the survivors to shelter in caves. I met a girl in that town who couldn't understand why I'd come. "Why wouldn't you go some place nice?"
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