efficacy, and other supressions of poetic whim

There’s a glow behind the mountains when the sun is under them for this long. It lasts for an eternity; sitting here in the Red Rock parking lot you can believe that eternity is all wrapped up in a singular cornflower blue, and the cold that’s been coming over you since sunset started; your jacket is on the bench next to you, but a poetic whim makes you want to leave it there, and let eternity wrap itself up in you, too. Every car that passes you on its way to Blue Diamond or Las Vegas makes you flinch, and you shiver more violently, so maybe your whim is not such a good idea. Besides, you’ve gone far enough on an artsy feeling, seeing as you are no longer inside a warm household, and are instead sitting on a concrete bench chilling the fat on your thighs and thinking your life is like a movie. Adjusting the camera angle. Capturing any vaguely opaque source of light that may tap you on the shoulder as an important reflective scene. Fancying yourself some kind of vagrant adolescent main character in what was supposed to be a calm coming-of-age story. (You didn’t understand that anything coming-of-age is not prone to be calm.)

A car clatters past and you flinch, again. This time you put on your jacket, and eternity droops its shoulders.

What would you do next is a mystery to mountain and man alike; not even you want to know what car will bless you with a horn blast next, under what circumstances; could be mother, could be brother, could be a stranger with a sense stronger than you have at just a few solar revolutions. The sun has since left to rest its rays on a different desert; here you are left to gaze upon a beautiful blue dusting down across the dunes and flowers. A cold happy, a restful content oozes from a secret well. The concrete bench agrees with your state of being, but a little too harshly.

This time, a road train, blasting past, you sling your Kanken across your denim-flannel back and start for the homestretch. Homestretch. A word that should seem meaningless to you, as unhomed as you now feel like you want to be. Still, you start toward Blue Diamond with a little purpose curled in your cupid’s bow.


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