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When the dew falls over the tall grass of the Pacific Northwest and the autumn sun glistens like a million skylights darting off into space and reflecting back off the Olympic Peninsula, the smell is sweet and yet, decay is in the air. The hum of fog horns churn in the distance, while lorries ply by and billboard signs weep and peel along highway 17, calling to mind last summer's humidity. The fishermen go out to sea even as…
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