It’s fall 1983 in the Pacific Northwest, a historical hotbed for white poverty and white-power mobilization. Flannels flow like wine, backcountry bowl cut-adjacent male fringes mark burgeoning leadership, and there isn’t a shiny new car for 100 miles in any direction. On both sides of the law we find ourselves in the company of brawny mustachios and brazenly retreating widows’ peaks that form trenches of balding. The tremoring strings, blue-gray…
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