Suddenly, I was in a desert. I looked westward, and there was a figure on the horizon, sprinting in the scorching morning sun, too far to discern any of their features or expression, running with intense rage. Vultures and other opportunistic birds of prey circled them as if they were already dead. I felt compelled to move my own body in parallel with them; I couldn't say why, perhaps for answers that I knew I had forgotten, or perhaps to be their witness. As I started to run, aligned with the horizon, in sync with them, my eyes always kept on their endeavor. We ran the entire day, and as the burning star set behind them, I remember watching as its dark orange mass framed the figure's ever-moving body, their sprinting form never slipping, their speed in constant motion perfectly aligned with the trance beat.