.Rob Mazurek

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• .Pigments:2
• .Multimedias:3
• .Words:4
• .Bio:5
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It had occured to him to do it all in one shot. if he drove right through he thought he'd make Houston in about a day. But that was when the trip, clean in the idea of it, could not have contained the highway. Scattered crumbs lay underneath the map on the dashboard. He looks out at the desert, tracing a line between the sand and sky, and distant hills melt into the blue. He wipes his eyes and is content to be up early. The window is a pane of black. It's May in Chicago, and the morning is cool and damp. The wind hits his face through the open window. Flashing red, a railroad light stops him just outside the city, and he waits. He stops and sleeps. The water bottle, half full, moves beside him, bouncing threads of sunlight onto the floor. Stopped at a gas station outside a small town between Dallas and Houston, he checks the map, and the map changes. The next afternoon he is driving in the desert on a road that narrows to a thread at the horizon. Interstates like slowly pumping veins course towards every destination. Farmland stretching green into the distance consumes the road in one enormous swallow, then rises to touch the evening-orange sun. Highway signs announce Jefferson City and Columbia, and the car speeds through the Missouri landscape. He drives right through, red, into the next afternoon. the highway is cool and damp. He wipes his eyes and is content to be up distant hills. Course: Columbia, Dallas, Houston, into the blue. Signs announce a line of sunlight and some small town between. Distance consumes Chicago, and he waits. Farmland stopped, he thought - the city stops every destination. One enormous swallow could not have contained the highway. He drives stretching towards outside interstates. The water moves beside him, then rises to touch the morning, cool and damp. He wipes his eyes and is content to be. Stretching green could not have contained the highway. One shot. Of sunlight highway signs announce. Do it all in scattered crumbs. The half-full afternoon wind in Chicago, and underneath the map. Flashing horizon enormous day. To swallow, wait, content. One change, the red early landscape. Chicago rises. The sunlight sun signs enormous. Evening-orange, the water black. His shot was but contained. Missouri in a desert, day's scattered destination. Thought driving speeds him in the idea city. Melt the course. Railroad line and town, the every touch when in the enormous. Swallow half-full eyes, and the water. The morning narrows into blue. Columbia sleeps. In evening-orange the desert and Jefferson, all. Every desert outside rises through Chicago. The he that drove he in him and small veins-red, blue. Houston sleeps. Enormous highway his, between the distance. The idea is the swallow. Thought contained a scattered green, highway, he, and scattered city crumbs.

- Steve Krasinsky