![]() He doesn't even see houses in Red Hook, just fence lines along the roads, a dirt drive sometimes winding away. He has the idea that the rest of the town must lie just farther on, and that the diner and farm store and church and post office are a far-flung outpost, but he keeps ending up twenty-odd miles away in front of a sign welcoming him to a new town, and so he keeps turning back and retracing his route. He keeps flying through this sparse nexus of structures, first along the south-north road, then, when he finally manages to slow down and make the turn, along the east-west. And the post office, a small square cement building with RED HOOK NY 12571 spelled out in metal letters across the flat gray façade. Red Hook is little more than the junction of a couple of roads, with a farm store, a church and graveyard, a diner. ![]()
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