That Concrete Heat

We stopped in the middle of a concrete desert. Or maybe we were just getting started. Either way it was hot. My skin was sticking to the ground like a tomato left to rot. I was sliding from place to place in the slick heat, but pieces of my skin peeled off on that rocky surface.

I had just spent the past hour trying to get directions from an overly articulate feather and all I’d managed to figure out was that we’re visitors here. I know that we belong somewhere and that somewhere certainly isn’t here. Holding onto the tiny pebbles for extra traction, I yell at Ant to get me one more beer.

“We need shelter. This sun is going to make us crack.”