When I venture beyond the plain of twinkling lights I feel overdressed, my clothes too fine, my car too clean. It’s always the air, the impossibly fresh air, that I notice first. With Neil Young singing about a lost America six hours from LA to Zion really wasn’t that bad of a drive. Most of the Mojave was at night, when you could imagine more interesting things than actually see. Breakfast at a roadside diner in Hurricane, Utah: eggs, bacon, potatoes, coffee, more coffee. I need coffee like David Lynch and his characters do. I dream Twin Peaks dreams of coffee these days.