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I can still conjure it—the family’s tobacco-brown Pontiac Bonneville, the smell of leather warm from the mid-day sun, dashboard gleaming with chrome, at that age when I was still small enough to straddle the transmission hump. I felt part of the whole ride—the road ahead, the hum of the engine mingling with the faint whisperContinueContinue reading “Bad Moon Rising and the 8-Track Sounds of Childhood”