i am wandering the desert in bare feet and sweatpants. i’m not lost, but i’m not sure why i’m here. Scrub brush and assorted attempts at green mingle among every size of stone from sand to boulder. The shades of grey show color if you give them a moment. i crest a wash to discover a line of pocked aluminum cans sitting on a ledge dug into a rocky dune. My dust-covered toes find footing amid spindly grasses and jagged edges to examine a couple sodas and some booze replaced by sand and ammo. i tip the cans to let BBs slide out sparkling amid the dust that weighed their targets down. The little spheres are heavy for their size, satisfying to roll around my filthy palms. The sound of a helicopter sends my face toward the sky; i take in the landscape again. Desolate, but not hopeless. i am a sunburnt, sandblasted child of some apocalypse, tear ducts full of dust. The wind whips past in particles and i raise my hood to hide from the desert. i take the BBs home to meet my collection of other small beauties.