Green River, Wyoming

Black 85 Ltd busted hose and spilling fluid.

I watched antifreeze and water fill the permeant wagon wheel rut in the desert soil.

High noon on a Saturday cutting a solid line west across theOregon trail. History laying its future ahead of us.

The flies collect on the plateau just north of camp. Trout take flight with anticipation before sunset

Hands wrapped in duct tape. I become human fly paper in the shadow of the Coleman lantern.

Our laughter becomes a fond memory. Our eyes glass over with remorse to the life we left behind.

Outside the tent the Green River keeps cutting deep into our desert.