I drive all night, and in the morning twilight I see monkeys darting through the trees. An hour later, I see animals I have never seen before. Furry things with no legs, crawling on their bellies. Things with geometric bodies. I pass square protrusions in the earth, and through the moss I glimpse the sparkle of window glass. The tops of skyscrapers, long buried. Anyone could see this if they happened to pass by, but everyone else knows what they know, and my dirty white Chevy with no hubcaps is the only car on the road today.

Up ahead is a stony ridge that drops down into a valley, still hidden from view. As I approach, I hear voices breaking through the static on the radio, speaking no language I have ever heard before. I crank up the radio, roll the windows down, and drive toward the ridge with the wind in my hair and one arm on the steering wheel, jolting and rocking on tired old shocks and bald tires toward the deep end of the world. I have never felt such relief in my life.

end