What sort of place do you come from, in this vast and varied nation? It’s not always simple to express, especially if you grew up in a place that was
, yet also, through only some fault of its own, the object of a certain amount of
. But, me, personally? I will say that I come from the place where stuff like this happens:
Someone who knows the physical geography, but not the spiritual landscape, of the area might say that this particular mid-Atlantic gothic incident—one federally protected symbol of America murdering another, over a meal of carrion on the rail bed—could have happened anywhere: Elkton, or Perryville, or even Wilmington, Delaware. To which I could only say: but where it
happen was Aberdeen.