A record of the adventures of James, who in his 31st year left the human world and came to the desert.

10.01.2002

 
He woke, then languished in bed for the rest of the day, listening to the sound of messages left on his answering machine: first Jake from the cube next to him, then his boss. Then the receptionist and her sunny voice requesting that he call back to make an appointment with Human Resources so that they might conduct an exit interview. The whole time he made out patterns from the nonsense of plaster on the ceiling. Faces, roads, satellites, enigmas. The cotton sheets twisted around his torso.

Sometime after the receptionist's call, beyond sundown, but before his girlfriend left a message on the answering machine, he fell into another sleep.