On his phone, a text bulletin came through from the National Weather Service. High winds were predicted for midnight, and that meant another blinding dust storm. He hoped it would hold off. The gigantic papier-mâché penis was scheduled to burn at nine. A big crowd was expected. The evening consisted of the usual verbal altercations concerning love or drugs. A couple of cases of heat prostration. Tribes paid their respects as he ambled past their camps. Girls tossed candy necklaces over his head. People offered beer and chai. These were his people. Failed artists. Rejected musicians and
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