Driving slowly along the road to Rake Field was Neely Crenshaw, slowly because he had not been back in many years, slowly because when he saw the lights of the field the memories came roaring back, as he knew they would. He rolled through the red and yellow maples, bright in their autumn foliage. It was late in the afternoon, in October, and a soft wind from the north chilled the air. He stopped aecurity car near the gate and stared at the field. All movements were slow now, find my social security number by name thoughts weighted heavily examples biofuel
sounds and images of another life.