If God were to look down upon the mortal world at this moment and slowly unfurl a map of Pennsylvania, He would find a place that resembled not a solid landmass, but a frozen ocean.
In the west, the Appalachian Mountains were like colossal, surging waves, standing tall at the edge of the continent, carrying the fury of tectonic movements from eons ago.
They were a geographical barrier, and a psychological wall.
In the east, Philadelphia was the gray tidal flat left behind by the receding Atlantic Ocean.
The people there wore exquisite suits and spoke of liberty and the Constitution, as if they were still living in the glory of two centuries past.
Scattered across the vast heartland of the Midwest, the Rust Belt Cities—Erie, Scranton, Johnston—were like black reefs, half-submerged, half-floating.
They appeared and disappeared with the tides of history, their bodies covered in coal dust and rust, silently enduring wave after wave of economic decline.
