"With a sense of what is to come,
I set down these words
in the Year of Our Lord [unreadable],
even as the events unfold around us.
In the end,
we may have nothing to thank you for.
When all is done, this may be only
a chronicle of your visits
to an insignificant American small town.
But I fear otherwise."
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Found long ago in Saturday's End
Origin unknown
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