We drove through barren mountains. The valley remained scorched and brittle even though a storm had past the night before. I touched my forehead to the window feeling the sunlight bake my skin till my cheeks flushed a pinkish hue.
“How much longer?” said a fellow traveler.
“Another hour and a half,” said our driver.
We were modern travelers traversing the Mojave desert. In a place where cactus is king, we were seeking a modish oasis. Sharp pains pinched my knees. My body can spend hours writing but can last only a few minutes driving.
Hours had passed, and soon hotels began to spring up. They dispersed themselves across the landscape. We had reached our paradise of sin.