The glorious pile of salmon-colored bricks stands on a hill looking out on the town, the mountains, the ponds, and the honey-and-russet-colored fields stretching as far as the eye can see. If you live in Dryden, the kids from Ithaca, that cradle of metropolitan sophistication 15 miles away, will say you live in a “cow town.” (“There’s a cow pasture right next to the school!” says one young Ithacan.) But Dryden High School, with its emerald lawns, running tracks, athletic fields, skating pond, pine trees, and 732 eager students, is actually a first-rate place to grow up. This puts the 1,900 inhabitants into two philosophical camps: those who feel the town is rendered more beautiful by the “drama” and “poetry” of the clouds and those who say it’s so “gloomy” it’s like living in an old lady’s underwear drawer. (It’s rumored the film’s director, Frank Capra, was inspired by Dryden.) But the thriving, well-heeled hamlet is situated on the southern edge of New York’s Finger Lakes region, under one of the highest cloud-cover ratios in America. 5 South Street, it could have come right out of It’s a Wonderful Life. Not that Dryden doesn’t look like the finest little town in the universe-with its pretty houses and its own personal George Bailey Agency at No. You can follow her on Twitter the meantime, dig into “The Cheerleaders.” The story was published in Spin back in June of 2001, featured in The Best American Crime Writing 2002, and appears here with the author’s permission. Right, Right Now!: Man Catching Made Easy. She is the author of four books, including Hunter: The Strange and Savage Life of Hunter S. Elle’s longtime advice columnist, Caroll is a former contributing editor at Outside and also at Esquire, which she wrote this fantastic column about basketball groupies. Why do horrible things happen? That is the question at the heart of this disquieting story from the most-talented E. I am not surprised by violence or horror but still sometimes find myself struck, not unlike Marge, in a kind of a daze, unable to wrap my head around it. Well, I just don’t understand it.” It’s as true a piece of acting as you’ll find-Marge really doesn’t comprehend a certain kind of human darkness. “And here ya are,” she says, “and it’s a beautiful day. We see that she cannot fathom the evil she’s just seen. He’s in the backseat of her police cruiser and she talks to him as she drives. At the end of Fargo, Frances McDormand’s police chief, Marge Gunderson, captures the psycho played by Peter Stormare.
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