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This fragment reads like a compact American threat-image built from flag, zealotry, field, and weapon.

Even in partial form the page is forceful. It feels like a scratched-in revision where patriotism and menace collapse into the same scene.

A short proclamation. For the real American dream, circling the abstract blood of a flag you will never find you and me Mr. Zealot. A muddy field, a moonlit baseball bat. The book repeats its emblem to make it stick.