It Doesn’t Have to be Like This

It was in Nevada where the Escort broke down. Middle of the fucking desert. Sun and sand and scrub. On the way to some mysterious unseen reservoir, on a dirt road.

Alan stepped out of the car and took a piss. It burned and his skin felt like it was being baked.

Three buzzards came drifting in from nowhere to see what was going on. Steve looked up at them and then looked across the desert to a distant ridge.

What are we going to fucking do, Steve asked Alan.

Do we have any water.

None.

Fuck.

Do you think we can make it ’til dark and start walking.

I don’t know. But we’ll have to.

The buzzards landed on the desert 100 yards away and looked toward the ridge in the distance. They acted like the two men weren’t even there.