The late night silence is punctured by rumbles. Not a cloud in the sky at sunset, it must be military base practices, bombs detonated into a desert where no one will file a complaint. As you go out for a sunset run - your only attempts at going past the gates all week - your sole neighbor stops to tell you her colleague ran over a man and killed him, then kept driving. By the time you start running, the sun has set: your minutes of visibility now numbered. The land is unforgiving. The dog greets you on your return, walks you the whole way to your door. You haven't seen a rattle snake since you came.
The days disappear in mountains of work. You know there is an end on the horizon. Know you came for other reasons, pray there is still magic waiting somewhere beneath the red sand around you.
If you were looking to run yourself into the ground,
you could as well have stayed home.
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