dusk after dusk
long dirt road
cold beer
Before you get envious, idealizing Montana and Big Sky Country and the West, wishing for this dusk and this dirt and this cold, crisp refreshment, please recognize that I’m drinking crappy Coors, that my ration for the entire month is a thirty-pack (ten days and seven brews left!), and that this vast landscape can generate a mighty thirst in a fellow. Furthermore, recognize that being alone — no car, no Internet, no respite from the personal brain box — doesn’t exactly help the situation. And neither does the fact that I came here directly from my apartment in San Francisco: six roommates sharing a bathroom, ambulance sirens 24-7, a reassuringly familiar (albeit infuriating and exhausting) baseline of bodies and noise, crowds and distraction. All that said, the evening walk is ridiculously powerful: Endless brown grass. Infinite stillness. The possibility of wolves.
