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Indiana > Montana

From the top of my new highway embankment I walk 15 yards downhill into no-man's land and am immediately granted the invisibility of being somewhere you are not expected: the unreachable, unfathomable negative space between the roads of the American Highway System. I eat a psychedelic mushroom and drink my last Heineken. I briefly ponder my temporary role as a professional carpooler, then climb back up to offer my services to the intermittant drip of cars going my way. (Part I)