The Last American Dream

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2026-05-30 03:40:01 -

The first time I saw the sky over New York, I was standing on the deck of a ship that smelled of diesel and salt and other people's dreams. The city rose from the water like a mirage—the skyscrapers catching the last light of a November afternoon, golden and unreachable, like the bottom of a bottle at the bottom of a glass. I was twenty-four years old, born in Omaha to a father who had sold his...

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