Lying on a gray foam mat on a patch of desert pavement in a wide wash in the Owlshead Mountains. Flashes of chemical light had preceded the dawn. Bomb blasts glided across the salt pan. Only a mountain range separated me and the war games being had, while the scorpions and tarantulas fought over space in the bottom of my left boot. I was sleeping and not at the same time. Machine gun dreams. Slowly, the stars turned blue. Thoughts of instant coffee, powdered milk, and quaker oats, drove me up. A trail of smoke rose on the horizon. Jet trails crisscrossed the sunrise. A fire still burned. A U.F.O. crash, I supposed. Military investigation ensuing. Sun rays crawled across the highway as the rattlesnakes awoke. Once I got going, I began to sweep the
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