He pulled on a coat and walked down the flight of stairs from the head house into the distribution floor. Then he walked to the far end to the east. This was the top floor of the grain elevator. He passed eighteen of the great bins–six on one side and twelve on the other, closed up with their huge twenty-foot concrete covers. At the end of the building, the ninety-year-old windows faced the coming night. Out there in the gloaming he could see orange needles standing against the dark reflecting the sunset. These spires luminescing in last light were other grain elevators, dotted across Texas down the rail line–all except one. The exception was a cross shrouded in farmer tin. Its owners billed it as the biggest cross in the world, and it anchored a truck stop and religious bookstore to the Interstate Highway.
— Scott Archer Jones
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