Jasika Nicole

I crossed the parking lot again, despite the heat.

Tried to look around the edges of the boards.

I could see, faintly in the darkness, the long sweep of the bar, covered in plastic sheeting and dust.

There were no bar stools, no tables.

Only the smell of old paint and sealed spaces.

Of course.

I'm back out on these roads alright.

I plugged the coordinates into my phone, and it was a spot in the deep desert a few hours to the northeast.

A primitive track off a tiny road, off a slightly less tiny road, off a lonely stretch of a barely used highway near a lithium mine.

I'm not sure I knew lithium was mined.

So, I'm learning new things every day.

The drive there is a blur of roads stretching in front of me tediously.

Like a song I can't get out of my head.

I've gotten out of the habit of transit.

I've stayed in one place.

I've let the years pass through me, living them day by day.

But things like hours and days don't matter to a long drive.

Here, there is only distance, while time itself stands still.

And somewhere between two hours and two thousand years, I turn onto the tiny road.

Graves Road, says the sign.