but is smells like the Fourth of July.
A squad of kids have been in a firefight reminiscent of the most horrific scenes in
Platoon
or
Apocalypse Now
for the past hour. Screaming Rebels and Whistler Bottle Rockets arc over the block and explode above the tree-line, followed by shouting and thumping of tennis-shoed warriors falling back to re-group by the field. One unfortunate little solder is apparently named "Faggular," and he needs to "come on!" for one reason or another to take the corner before his foes. I don't see anything, just the sounds popping through the Corner Quad Bunker's sand-bagged windows.
Fargo reeks of sulfur now and could be melting under Liquid Hell Napalm, for all I know.
A hush has now fallen upon the Fargo Front, and dusk is creeping slowly toward the trees.
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