A vehicle travels through the desert.
A pair of eyebrows with a person attached underneath.
She is named Lucinda. Or Jillian. Or Louise. Or Percephone.
She has a name, anyway.
She's listening to the radio. Sort of.
She's got it tuned between two stations.
Because the static is more interesting.
She thinks perhaps of reading the newspaper.
Checking up on the latest election coverage.
Or just reading the funnies.
This isn't the best time to be reading, she says.
The static on the radio fluctuates a little, as if it agrees.
Or is it...bored?
It's night. Or perhaps it's day.
She rolls down the window.
She sees something in the sand by the side of the road.
Amongst some brambles.
And some broken glass.
It is a solitary donut.
Glazed with sugar.
Sitting alone in the desert heat.
A lonely donut.
Cooked much longer than necessary.
Overcooked, some might argue.
Though that's largely a matter of
She thinks of taking home this donut.
This lonely donut.
But then again.
To keep her backseat clean.
And to avoid the risks.
Maybe the donut is infected.
Maybe it's a terrorist in a very clever disguise.
And so she drives on.
For exactly four hours.
Then she reaches a cliff where the road simply ends.
Drat. She says.
She shifts into reverse.
120 miles per hour.
Eyelids more attentive than usual.
Static left behind on the edge of a cliff.
A newspaper plastered to a dashboard. Clinging.
As she rockets backwards, she sees donut. After donut.
The road is lined with them.
To the horizon
That the desert is full. FULL. Of donuts.
The blinding sun/moon
Is reflected in their dazzling sugar coating.
She can't see a thing
She doesn't see them.
She knows they are there.
A vehicle says "never mind."
A squishy vehicle travels through the desert.
It all comes full circle.
It's all a big circle.