out in the desert, the shaggy hippie dream, such as it was, died with the Manson family, bleached and withered by the Sun and CIA-grade acid, crystallized into a mall with a Sharper Image and a Williams-Sonoma haunted by the ghosts of an old silver mine prospector and an Apache war chieftain locked in eternal combat. 

— J Everett is the editor and publisher of APOCALYPSE CONFIDENTIAL

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