Davis Land

Jack rides his motorcycle into the Utah desert. He’s never been to Utah. He stops, looks at his watch, and notes the time in his head, repeats it over a few times. The sand is cracked, there are mountains in the distance, the sky is blue and the sun is low, still hot but cooling. He was here, like a kid on his bicycle once again. When he would ride from his parent’s house to the local corner Walgreen’s and buy gum, pencils, a notebook, hot glue. He remembers the sidewalks and how they were cracked, he realizes how his current experience is just the amplified repetition of his previous experience except things move faster, like his motorcycle compared to his childhood bicycle. He remembers when his mother would yell at him for leaving without saying anything, how the difference is now there’s no one home to say anything to. He looks down at his watch, notes the time. He starts the motorcycle and puts his helmet back on. The sun begins to set.