People’re always buried facing west, so at the end of time when the Last Trumpet blows, all the dead people’ll claw their way up and walk due west to the throne of Jesus to be judged. . . . Suicides, mind, get buried facing north. They won’t be able to find Jesus ’cause dead people only walk in straight lines. . . . Isn’t no god better than one who does that to people?
“What about your family, Abu Huwa? Are you an orphan?
…the Sierra, a region so quiet and pristine that we have the sense of being the first human beings ever to set foot in it. We fall silent ourselves in its midst, as if conversation in a place of such primaevl solitude would be like talking in church.
By midmorning eight of the horses stood tied and the other eight were wilder than deer, scattering along the fence and bunching and running in a rising sea of dust as the day warmed, coming to reckon slowly with the remorselessness of this rendering of their fluid and collective selves into that condition of separate and helpless paralysis which seemed to be among them like a creeping plague.
Globalization by the way of McDonald’s and KFC has captured the hearts, the minds, and from what I can see through the window, the growing bellies of the folks here.
It’s the easiest thing in the world to get to California-you just aim yourself west and start walking.