A Parched Place

‘The highway pushes onwards into the desert like a flat, grey cincture holding the dry, brown hills asunder. This was the road by which John Oxenshuer finally chose to make his escape. He had no particular destination in mind but was only seeking a parched place, a sandy place, a place where he could be alone: he needed to recreate, in what might well be his last weeks of life, certain aspects of barren Mars.’

from The Feast of St. Dionysus by Robert Silverberg

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