Desert Baby

I walked one hundred yards into the desert and found four porcelain toilets. I threw them each into discarded television sets. I tried to decode the mystery of the trash. A hip sneaker, a dozen empty spray paint cans, a puppet. Remnants of a bed, a garden hose, a Spirograph. As if people just gave up. They upended their homes of the side of a desolate road, and shook everything out and got the hell out of there.

Painting of a mugshot.

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