Tiredness and mild delirium from the flight’s sensorial deprivation was settling in, as was the effect of a second beer. The re-absorption into the real world was hazy, this was a world I was completely unfamiliar with, but happy to be feeling very alive in. Delighting privately in this for a moment I remember smiling a wide and comfortable smile, adjusting my aviators, sitting back deeply into my seat, breathing deeply and exhaling slowly as I gazed out of the window across the burning golden landscape, quietly pondering the distance I had travelled, and how two worlds could coexist thousands of miles apart, blissfully independent, and then converge so lucidly upon a whim, at my behest. I felt powerful. I felt completely safe. I can even believe that I might have known I would write about it one day. I can still feel the heat from the sun, the condensation from the beer bottle running between my fingers, and I can almost conjure the smell from the car as we lurched on across the river, the Camry noisily and awkwardly shifting its automatic gears, and whining at every modest turn of the wheel.

Not much of the journey after this stands out in memory. Perhaps I was just weary and overwhelmed. Perhaps I stopped caring to make notes of my experiences, and instead immersed myself in them and started to live them. Perhaps I got my second wind. Perhaps I got drunk. In any case, I’m still here six years later.

I was meant to go to Vegas for a week, but I was convinced to come to Memphis instead. I still haven’t been to Vegas. Vegas can wait!

Rory