Across the white sheet. Eight hundred and fifty miles. Think time. Alone but bursting with brainwaves. Searching, making notes and formalizing all those random things that end up being not so random.
The land of Texans in fringe. Leather shawls and turquoise. Pretend time. Hipsters walking the plaza looking for what the have already seen. Felt hats, skinny jeans and a look of bewilderment. “I had no idea it snows here,” one shrieked to her friend. How to we still make people like this? Connected but clueless.
Sometimes I try to not like this place. Too cold, too corrupt, too dangerous, too little water. But within minutes of crossing over that border, the one without the wall, the feeling of connection returns. Can’t explain it.