Loyal? As Loyal As Anyone Who Plays

In Little Towns, Lives Roll Along So Close To One Another; Loves And Hates Beat About, Their Wings Almost Touching.

One January Day, Thirty Years Ago, The Little Town Of Hanover, Anchored On A Windy Nebraska Tableland, Was Trying Not To Be Blown Away.

Winter Lies Too Long In Country Towns; Hangs On Until It Is Stale And Shabby, Old And Sullen.

The Emptiness Was Intense, Like The Stillness In A Great Factory When The Machinery Stops Running.

When The Eyes Of The Flesh Are Shut, The Eyes Of The Spirit Are Open.