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What appears to be a nicely-kept private home sits on the left. To the
home's southeast, a steady stream of heavy trucks pause at this grade
crossing then roar as they accelerate and pound across it. To the east, petroleum
tanks ooze. To the south, Valley Proteins, an animal rendering facility,
emits a stench so ungodly that if The Burger King visited he'd immediately
abdicate to vegetarianism. Oh, and on the north, the Fantasies strip club
lets out its partiers at 2 AM.
The railfan at the home gloats, "Yeah, but look! I have trains running past my window!
Sometimes."
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