A Great Depression-style dust storm howls outside, blotting out the stars. There is a pall which covers the sky, the ground, the cows, the flowers, the windows, the faces and even gets in the teeth. The air is ionized as fractious dirt strips electrons from the air like drunk cowboys tearing at cathouse gals’ raggedy gowns. At night the faint glow of the streetlights downtown turns the dusty sky a roiling, blowing rose. Up in the nineties this afternoon, the temperature is supposed to drop at least forty five degrees over the next four days. The wind speeds are not.