The earth-movers rumbled along the road. The wire cables, thick as tree branches, stretched up and back, humming like guitar strings. The vast disc ground slowly forward, the ridges along its edge cutting furrows deep as a man's waist into the dirt. Ahead, their goal loomed, its top lost in the clouds.
"Another week and we'll be at the base," said the general. "We can begin lifting operations then. The cranes are already in place."
"Soon," said the president, shading her eyes against the flaring neon of the Jukebox, "soon the whole world will know what it is... to party."
Concrete Angel is a Finely Carved Debut
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