slightly dehydrated, eating refried beans out of a can in an abandoned old metal trailer in the desert. My look can be described as “grungey power ranger shounen.” With me are four other people with similar aesthetics, dipping their feet in a duct-taped wading pool and sharing a cooler of popsicles. Against a cinder-block fire-pit that may or may not shelter multiple rattlesnakes leans a bright yellow vespa that may or may not be able to hover, and a goat is chewing on what’s left of a potted plant just outside the trailer’s front door. On an old radio with antenna longer than I am tall, tuned into an un-locatable radio station, my chemical romance crackles in and out. The government thinks I’m dead and my student loans are void. Things are good.
