End of the Journey Fifty-two hour journey by train I don’t have a book to read, music to listen to food to eat or space to move. Thirst makes me stand in front of the mirror. My stubble-covered face is clearly in pain is forlornly free it looks like a clump of dirt in the wilderness I suppose that now it would be okay for it to be broken. The end of desire Dust going to the city. -On the way to Beijing, China
printed in The Street Where the Pipa Boy Disappeared.