i ended the title of this story with a period. an ending. but that was a lie. this story is neither the beginning nor does it have an end. the story is an imaginary space that holds within its brackets fragments of memories chewed up by time, and shards of imagination conglomerated like granules of sand. this forms the glass through which you will view scattered moments within a broken kaleidoscope. here is where you and i collide, over the scope of ultraviolet and infrared. here you may see the invisible. i will now end the beginning of this story, and begin the end.
summer of 2011, depressed and sick and poor in the sort of way that makes your mother worry. unemployed in brooklyn and fresh out of a violent break up, i needed to get the fuck out of dodge if i was ever going to make it out alive. i had accumulated enough jetblue points for a free flight and looked at a map for inspiration. i had never been to the desert. i booked a flight into phoenix, rented a car, and did not book any rooms in advance. the plan was to spend 10 days driving through the desert, alone, with no where to go and no one to be.
i created an escape.