Michael Malone - Weebly

the nineteenth century, when it filed more patents than
any other state. Henry's people had helped the state
grow rich. They had hammered together the hulls of the
clippers that skimmed like birds on the water out of the
port of Mystic. They had turned the mills and laid the
red bricks for factories where they, and their children,
could labor to produce the weaponry invented by local
geniuses like Eli Whitney and Samuel Colt and Oliver F.
Winchester. Connecticut had thrived on the guns and
ammunition that won the West, and on the artillery,
submarines, planes, and helicopters that had made the
world safe for those who had not been killed by (or in)
them. Connecticut had helped to manufacture some of
that advanced equipment that had taken Henry, the
Grabaskis, Bobby Strummer, Juan Treeca, and the rest,
into battle in Vietnam as the most expensively outfitted
fighting force in the world.
Henry was thinking of that expensive abundance
now, as he walked angrily along the highway from
Argyle to Dingley Falls.
Fields full of jet planes, mountains of M-16s.
Everyone at the prison had been complaining of the heat