The industrial footprint remained only in the eastern part of the continent. The smell of modern European civilization hung over the east coast, and when the sun rose in the east, it left behind an unknown primordial time. We drove westward, dragging our tired, rough, young bodies, chasing sunsets and sunshine, over vast plains, tall buildings and forests farther and farther away, unknown mountains and silent deserts to the far west of the continent. When the sun finally came to the end of the sky, night covered the mountain contour, darkness swallowed the road. This is our young past, when our lives seemed to be filled with perpetual beliefs in freedom and romance, wild sex in the backseats of cars, open Windows to let the smell of heroin drift into the distance, rain on the windscreen, and breakneck speed forcing raindrops upward. I would rather be buried on the peak of Namjbarwa, with the wind singing my praises, the rain burying my ashes, the birds and the goshawks knowing my place, and the sun and the clouds coming to me, as they have every day.