James Ferraro's Neo-Classical, GPS-Obsessed Americana
Bryant Wells
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James Ferraro. It was the most indelible image of the Republican National Convention: Donald Trump emerging in misty silhouette to the strains of "We are the Champions," his feet pressed together in the first position of a ballet dancer. Watching the broadcast, a dystopia worthy of Vonnegut unfolded before James Ferraro's eyes.

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