The last time I was in the desert was in August of 2020, when my partner and I took a trip to Death Valley, where we went to avoid people as much as possible (see: Covid 19). We rented a camper in the Searles Valley in what turned out to be a mostly abandoned trailer park, across the highway from Searles Lake, on which a mineral mining company extracts minerals 24-7, from which a light can be seen and a sporadic deep thumping can be heard at all hours. We arrived late and due to a series of unfortunate communication errors, drove to the far back corner of the park in order to acquire our keys from the caretaker, Oscar, who opened the door and proceeded to pull a gun on me. Once the communication errors were rectified, which played an essential role in my deftly deployed (and successful) de-escalation attempt, we finally made it to the camper. Later, we sat outside the camper drinking. Shining a light on the desert floor revealed what felt like thousands of creepy crawlers. It was dark, but the air was warmer than it gets during the day in the bay, and the moon was shining down on the only tree, which seemed to glow blood red, for what seemed like a thousand miles. Intoxicated by everything, we fucked against the tree and on top of the car, causing dents that can be seen to this day. The next morning we discovered the water didn’t work in the shower or sink, as someone had cut the water line, so we were forced to shower outside by the highway, which was ok because it was around 110 degrees out.
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