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 I AM riding on a limited express, one of the crack trains
of the nation.
Hurtling across the prairie into blue haze and dark air go fifteen all-steel coaches holding a thousand people.
(All the coaches shall be scrap and rust and all the men and women laughing in the diners and sleepers shall pass to ashes.
) I ask a man in the smoker where he is going and he answers: "Omaha.

Poem by Carl Sandburg
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