This week came the end of the world, the depth of the world. A town covered with so much dust that breathing becomes exercise. We drove on, belaboring the roads, submitting them to our will. Stripes, turquoise, O’Keefe, coolness, stifling heat, embracing sunsets, dusty sunrises. The Southwest deserves to be earned, to be won, to be conquered. The hills after which the world ceases, where only the howl of coyotes signifies existence, are the hills that mark the boundaries of the universe.