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Word: windshields (lookup in dictionary) (lookup stats)
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...plants. Down the road, as the Howard Johnson's tick by, all breathe easier. By mid-Pennsylvania, past the Amish country and into the Allegheny foothills, the father is almost counting cows with his children. Local radio stations dissolve in static every 50 miles; insects detonate against the windshield. He stops and has the oil checked. The American is in his seasonal migration...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Nation: America In Search of Ease | 7/20/1970 | See Source »

Cecil Garland, a former Las Vegas croupier who now runs a general store in Lincoln. Mont.: "For too many people, the ideal vacation has been determined by how much scenery they could see blurred across their car's windshield. Now more people are looking simply for a quiet, soul-healing, unwinding experience. They are not looking for the super-duper deal anymore. People are beginning to appreciate their natural resources more. The wilderness has a way of making friends for itself...

Author: /time Magazine | Title: Nation: America In Search of Ease | 7/20/1970 | See Source »

Flex were black, high-ankle PFC's- Puerto Rican Eence Climbers. Bright white socks- Woolworth's of Cambridge- rose from his boots to black pants, a white tee shirt, and an oversized black leather jacket. He was sporting wrap-around windshield shades and the finest hair-do north of Brooklyn, Flex claims he uses three-quarters of a tube of "New" Score in it: that way it stays in place in breezy Cambridge...

Author: By Bennett H. Beach, | Title: Three-Quarters of a Tube of Score Works | 5/8/1970 | See Source »

Robert Tonis, Chief of University Police, said that when his men tried, just before midnight, to take two students to Mass. General Hospital "people on the street broke every window and the windshield of the car." The police made it through to the hospital...

Author: By Peter D. Kramer, | Title: Little Ironies, Bloody Heads | 4/16/1970 | See Source »

...forest now and moving down, swinging in great ares along the desert steep sides of the mountains, Merilee's self is a windshield wiper screeching on dry glass. A tarantula fuzzy black with age scurries out of her way and stuffs himself almost all back into his hole. Spider at least has a home to go to. Sun burning and no moisture anywhere but the sticky-salty tastes from Merilee's eyes. GIRL! she is calling...

Author: NO WRITER ATTRIBUTED | Title: No Headline | 4/1/1970 | See Source »

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