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Once upon a time, the people of North America all experienced the strangest July afternoon. It had started off a normal enough day: together with wives drinking husbands and coffee reading papers; young children eating cereal and watching morning cartoons, while teens still sleeping in hot beds, with the rancid smells of their previous night's party hanging in the air. All was normal and so and as was to be expected. In the Midwest a farmer looked across his fields, with excitement and joy. It hadn't rained in a single day over a week and that he believed himself, they were because of a storm or even at least a little cloud of liquid gold. From the Southwest, the town streets were all coated in a thin layer of dirty sand. The windows of buildings went unwashed throughout the rainy summer months. The mayors of these towns long ago deciding to not squander the energy or time to wash the dirt off and sand that returned overnight, settling at the very same cracks and cracks because the previous moment. In the bigger cities across the Western seaboard smog hung heavy in the air filling the lungs of residence like a cigarette matches a smoker. Entering and attacking their bodies without hesitation, never fully leaving with each exhalation. Even the smog hung thick tall skyscraped cities, moping around like the automobiles that medication people to function in the early morning. The East coast, though, could not gloat about any more happy a circumstance as the green hilled countries were covered in shades of olive and jade and golden rays of sun fulfilled the faces of morning dog walkers. That day in July, as is came to be known, when the West awakened a rain cloud was already forming in the distance. It began over the sea powdering the shadow of the sky, first in long-lived.