Have I raised him, unwittingly, in the vicinity of a chemical dump site, in the path of air currents that carry industrial wastes capable of producing scalp degeneration, glorious sunsets? (People say the sunsets around in here were not nearly as stunning thirty of forty years ago). Man's guilt in history and in the tides of his own blood has been complicated by technology, the daily seeping faslehearted death.
Don DeLillo - White Noise