I walk long and I walk far. I’m a nomad. It’s what I’m supposed to do. That and set up camp somewhere someplace sometime someday.

That’s about it.

I stepped in dung once. That was the highlight of my day that day.

Yep. Nothing t see here. Desolate desert, depressing valleys containing nothing but cankered cactuses and wells dried by the sands of time which seeped in sometime someday.

Ate a roach and a lizard for dinner tonight. Tomorrow I’m hoping its a pheasant. Can’t rhyme for shit. I guess I’m a literary peasant.

I saw a gunslinger chasing a man in black and it wasn’t none of my business, but I gave the cowboy a cigarette and leftover lizard. He took them both gratefully. And paid me in coin.

I’m as old as time, or so it feels, and the smoking ain’t helping that one bit. My mule died last year. I’ve chosen this quagmire as my sanctum. Lizards frequent here often. The roaches follow.

Once I met a man with a horse named Roach, and the man looked shady as fuck, with cat-eyes and silver hair. He gave me some coin and asked me for directions.

I pointed him the wrong way. He was a shady fellow. I don’t like shady fellows. The gunslinger was alright.

When the machines came through the desert, big monsters made of metal and magic. I sold that girl a couple of wires and wood. She made spears and bow-arrows out of them.

I saw everything. The fall of the Atlantis of Ruba-Al-Khali. The sacred city of Shambala. I even saw the light so bright coming down from the sky in the shape of a saucer. I saw aliens.

I do heroine. There’s a might probable chance none of it happened.