Whistling down the Amtrak line in the region of Fernley, Nevada, about five in the afternoon, in the observation car under a lid of smoke from Sierra Nevada fires, scanning the murky sagebrush hills for wild horses, I was startled for a moment by what appeared to be a rampant set of female hindquarters, bared and on display to the train. A second later my first impression was confirmed, and I saw we were passing a redneck swimming hole, where asses are probably bared daily. The whole thing was a gentle reminder of my own early days, when teen butt sightings no doubt marred many an otherwise picturesque photo of this or that pleasant stretch of railside streambank, if the teens I knew were anywhere in sight.
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