I dreamt I was sitting in the back of an old ute as it sped across the desert. Hitchhiking, I guess.
I don’t remember the driver. Or anything else about the dream really, except this image of myself in dirty clothes: torn in places, pockets empty, no wallet. I haven’t shaven or slept. I’m staring at my phone, which has been smashed in the centre of the screen. A perfectly round hole, like it’s been shot. I prod the shattered glass and the front of the phone falls off.
I stare at it.
I say “Fuck.”
And so I’m speeding, with no means of communication or identification, over a desert, in a vehicle that is not my own, driven by a stranger. The ute hurtles across rocks, kicking up red dust. There is nothing on the horizon, in any direction. But I’m not really looking.
I throw the phone over the side, contemplating my shoes, torn jeans and the truck bed.