The dusty road went on into the desolate plain, tapering until it fell out of sight in the far haze of heat which separated the clear, blue sky from the pale, white sands of earth, melding the opposites, inverting them, so that there appeared, in the horizon, something like water, an irreconcilably distant satiation that might drive men into the dry and deadly desert. Either way I looked, there was nothing but this false promise. Only in the now, only right here, right in front of me, in this paint peeling wreck of a restaurant, could I find a drink.
Layover
Tale Told 