Moving to New Mexico in ’99 was a good way to escape from America, or so I thought at the time, but it looks like it followed me here. (My self certainly did.) The tires magically appeared in the turnaround circle of the dirt road that no one owns or gives a shit about in the middle of the last big snowstorm. I thought about tossing them into the sagebrush. Leaving them where they are is better, though: I’d like to see how long it takes for more trash to be added to the pile!
Yes, I’m in one of those moods. But I have a plan.