I don’t mind feeling older. It brings a liberating sense of honesty.
I stitched together my favorite running songs because I need some solid entertainment to keep me moving through the desert.
The desert is littered with bizarre facts, and I often think I invented them, like a fragment from a dream or a misremembered film.
Here in Las Vegas, we’re catching the faintest edge of the atmospheric river, a weather event that sounds like something from a fantasy novel.
In the grip of my delirium, I half-watched a lousy Netflix series that can be viewed in any order, which seems like a trial balloon for AI-generated entertainment.
C. and I rang in the new year at the top of Route 93.
