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tables to watch the sun come up over the desert.
    I’ve never lamented the circumstances of my life. I might complain and bitch about them, but it is what it is. Perhaps knowing that I am destined for a great love has helped me cope, unlike my mother, who spent her whole life searching for “the one.” Maybe if my mom had had a gift like mine, she would have been able to see and follow a different path, instead of landing in the wrong lap every time. For all her faults, though, I loved her. I may not have liked her much, but I never did figure out how to stop loving the person who gave me life.
    I finish my breakfast and rise from the table, using the chipped and broken trash receptacle to throw my stuff away. I no longer need to be cautious, because in a few hours I will have disappeared into a city labyrinth. From my camping equipment I grab the shower bag I have, filling it with the required two and a half gallons of water it holds. I grab some soap and a change of clothes and head to the facilities building. Inside I am able to hang the bag and take a quick shower, even brushing my teeth. One thing that I have learned is to be frugal with water, so I shower every second or third day. Even though the water is tepid, it still feels nice to wash the grime off. Once the water is gone, I dry off and dress, then pack up all of my stuff before heading outside.
    I top off the tank with my stored gasoline, double-check that everything is secure on the flatbed, and then plop the sunglasses on my nose. The sun has awoken, bathing the land in brightness. I must admit the desert is beautiful, stark in dried-up grass and dust swirls, but the absence of color actually captures my appreciation. I like simplicity.
    Shaking my head against such frivolous thinking, I take off down the road, instantly forgetting my outdoor hotel for the night. I have about three hours left in my journey to Los Angeles, which will put me there around nine, so that will give me plenty of daylight left to scout out a hiding area, secure my four-wheeler, and go trolling for the guys.
    Seek and Galloway. There had been one dream, long ago, where they had been at a bar, someplace crawling with military men. Women had been there aplenty, the kind hoping to bed someone with many stripes on their arms. I watched them that night from my spirit plateau. I really hated those particular dreams, when I know men will be men and fuck whatever catches their fancy. Galloway had been a real ladies’ man, with his dashing good looks, charming dimples, and his willingness to let a woman’s pleasure exceed his own. But that night it had been Seek who had caught my attention. I was so used to watching Galloway, it took me a few minutes to realize how much Seek was holding back, how he was nursing a beer in a corner and avoiding everyone.
    I couldn’t quite understand him. What was he doing there? Why wasn’t he mingling with others, dancing with girls, trying to cop a feel at every moment? Instead, he shied away from all contact. A ghost. Like me.
    I enter Los Angeles from the east, driving on what used to be Interstate 10. Broken, abandoned cars rest like forgotten tombstones up and down the sides of the road. The earth has started to engulf the remains. I soon come to a halt because I’ve hit the area so devastated my trusty steed can’t navigate it. I remember hearing about the earthquake, of course; it was one of the few things that had managed to overshadow the virus on the news channels. I remember being ambivalent because Los Angeles was a long way away and I had enough on my plate, but now that I am here, I can’t help but feel an overwhelming sadness at the decay that has never been cleared. There had been no resources to help, so everything that had fallen still lay in rotting, rusting heaps, tombs for the people who never made it out.
    Even though I am wearing sunglasses, I still shade my eyes as I search the nearby area for a great place to hide my Cat. My