Moving Through The Amargosa Valley

"Are we almost there?"

"Go to sleep or something, will ya?

I grabbed one of my father's work shirts from a pile draped over greasy iron skillets, and poked the gamey colar into a tear in the vinyl interior. I adjusted the shirt to block out the majority of the Sun, while still allowing a view. I leaned back against a cardboard box of beach towels what was originally used for transporting tomatoes from Mexico, and I counted: cars headed in the opposite direction... road kill... dirt devils... breaths of air...

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