The End of the World 

I visited The End of the World sign in September, which happened to be when the rapture was supposed to happen. It clearly did not. The area was so desolate and vast that it seemed like it could be the world’s end. This part of the desert was the complete opposite of my life in LA, where we have become retrofitted. There was space, and if it had not been so dang gone hot, I imagine I could have breathed air, uninterrupted by sounds or distractions. The art installation was a commitment to build. I wondered how the artist got it there and who built it.  It’s Googleable, I know, but I still haven’t Googled the answers. I’d like to keep imagining. The letters were much larger than I thought and some were worn, and some were toppled by the windstorms. None, however, were broken or destroyed.