Letter: There goes the neighborhood
It was a hot Alabama night down at the fire hall. The crowd spilled out of the meeting room, certain in their beliefs, angry, intent, gray-haired, wealthier-than-most, melanin-deprived. Without so much as a good suntan in the room, the keep-them-out crowd, captained by those with an obvious personal conflict of interest, prevailed in what is likely to be an ephemeral victory.
Obviously, what we have here is a failure of communication. Let me offer a Swiftian modest proposal.
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