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which market electronics, autos, loans, beer, restaurants if you insist on calling them that, and who knows what else. Everything is plastered on clamoring billboards, even embarrassing stuff. Do people actually buy products presented in such a shoddy way in such a shoddy place and to such sleazy hyperbole? High regards for mankind might not make it intact through this landscape. But what else is there to pass the time? Just read the newspaper if doing that in a jittery rail coach doesn't make you want to puke even more than the view. Oh. By the way, don't talk to strangers. You never can tell, one of them just might remember you. As you continue on, beyond this trip land of psychotic promotion, the staid hand of zoning kicks in, thinning out the obtrusive visual interruptions. Population out here resides in cozy, but not tightly, arranged clusters of houses. Batteries of dwellings may share flavors of age or style in common, but in this greater region you just don't see exact look alike habitations. It is the leaning over backward individuality of each and every home, cheap or expensive, that first catches an outsider's eye. This isn't California. Further on, at the end of the line, houses sit comfortably apart on well trimmed parcels of land. Stretches of sturdy trees are plentiful, many quite old with the character that age brings to hardwood stands. Every imaginable color of plant has been inserted into the scheme of space, again with the eye toward individuality. No yard looks like any other. You certainly don't see that tacky even spacing of identically sized perfectly symmetrical trees as in Florida which screams out that God had nothing to do with this. And who paints the bottoms of tree trunks white? What the hell is that all about? Is that a real occupation? Not here. Nobody does that. Gotta be atheists making a point. Here, trees vary in size, in age, in kinds and in placement. It is an identifiable quality of