“If a hitchhiker falls in the outback and no one hears him, does he make a sound?
Nothing moves in this landscape, not even the sun. It had been in the same spot for hours poking a hit skewer into my skull and all the way down to my heels.
The air smells burnt, like a bushfire. But they're is nothing to burn out here, just a flat plain of dust and stone. The dust cuts across it, a line on blank paper: paper without edges, line without end. And I am the only coordinate, pinned by the sun, waiting for a ride to carry me farther along.”