Evil sun, hide yourself behind a cloud, may the heat of your rays be quenched amongst the arms of the tree. I long for shadow.
Three days have I spent here amongst the scrubby brush and rocks and sand. Drab landscape once a beautiful mystery now an unwanted houseguest. Found I myself at a roadside watering hole, having driven for two straight days, fifty-two hours thrown down a hole, only the thought of deeds done sat beside. Passed I through miserable states, past I flew ignorant tourists. Then, as though through providence, eye caught sight of the bar on the side.
Walked I through glass front door, from blinding sky to impenetrable darkness. A minute sightless, stood I there just inside. Found the bar and upon the dirty old stool sat I. Its tape-repaired seat sticking to my ass the last memory.
Got drunk, I did. Put the tire around my neck, and fell to the ground, I did. But it was not drink which brought me here. He came to me, he found me there. The man who wears all white.
They said I was crazy there. They said, as they do of the paranoid, even one whose hand bears extant proof. Chicago left I, and the security she provides. Left I through the tide of travelers who bide outside her southern wall.
Woke I with delirious mind, outside in cool desert dawn. No sight of cloud, sun low in the sky, arose I and looked for signs. Knowing east from west, or north from south would be of no avail. So went I west, step by step over rocky crag, through canyon and over bluff. For three days have I walked and never did I find but simplest signs of life. A rattlesnake, a scorpion or two, no light on the horizon, not a highway nor dirt road.
So, here I die and take with me the sole authentic proof. Know I now he won’t find me, until we burn in hell.
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