Exasperation!
The road was called ‘78’ — the Old Americans had the most boring street names of any people, any place, any time — and it clearly wanted to be plowing straight through a heavily forested area. As we kept walking east, though, the forest grew sicklier and sicklier. Within a mile, the trees weren’t sick; they were dead. The grass had long since withered away, and even the lichen and fungi had vanished.
It was about then that I started feeling the pressure on my improvised (but well-improvised) charm. The sensation wasn’t unbearable. In fact, it was easy to get used to. It was still a reminder that we weren’t anywhere safe.Lost Atlanta was pretty flat, so it wasn’t until we had reached one of the old maglev lines — okay, quick digression. Those weren’t magical. Yes, I know they look magical. Yes, I know that ‘lev’ is short for ‘levitation.’ But ‘mag’ was short for ‘magnetic,’ not ‘magic.’ It was all done mundanely, which admittedly sounds insane. The Old Americans were just really good with mechanical things, and I don’t care what those Ancient Mystical Tradition writers from the Second Republic are telling you. Books like those will rot your mind — right, sorry, ranting.