(note: some of this was written last night before, and during the full moon drum jam. i decided to continue with the style for the other bits, just for continuity's sake.)
The sun is setting as you scarf mac and cheese straight from the pot. You have to wear a headlamp to see the salty, bright orange, gloppy shells of supreme deliciousness. While you were cooking, 3 cows wandered past your tent, placidly munching on grass in the chilly desert dusk.
Across the camp, a loud burp rings out, a vulgar Taps. Solar lights flicker on. The hippies begin to migrate towards the break in the fence, ready for the all-night party that is the full moon drum jam.
Hippies materializing out of the darkness with drums and drugs. Voices in the desert, a cry of 'Marco!', answered with 'Polo!' until we find each other, somehow, across the endless expanse of desert, shrubs, chollo, giant saguaros older than everyone you know. Cows lowing mournfully, echoing ghostly moans. Abandoned coyote dens waiting for an ankle to snap. There are more hippies, hopping and crawling under another fence, handing drums and instruments over. In the ravine, a fire begins to grow. Bowls are passed. The boy who likes you keeps grabbing your hand. The music becomes more frenzied, more people show up. Hulas are hooped, things are set on fire and swung around rhythmically. A native american flute pipes up, and then an accordion. The blackberry wine you lugged across the desert is finished. Someone walks around with a glowing orb that your smoky mind mistakes for the moon detaching from it's place in the sky and coming to join the festivities.
A beautiful girl stands above the ravine, silently blowing bubbles that turn to electric blue and orange orbs in the dual light from the moon and fire. At some point, it all becomes too much and you walk away to hide in the desert, where you find the exact same stand of trees you came to to get away from all the noise 10 years ago. You would never forget that spot. You stand in the quiet, breathing in the moon and the desert and drawn back again to the flutes and drums. Re-energized, you join the fray again. More people are dancing. Someone, you may never know who, emerges from the darkness dressed in a head-to-toe Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles costume (Raphael, even!) and starts doing a weird lizard/turtle stomp dance. Just as quickly, he is gone.
The fire dies down. People start to leave. You get lost again on the way back, you are starting to think you may never reach home again. But then, in the distance...the sound of dogs barking. The same solar lights that flickered to life only a few short hours ago. You smoke one more cigarette, and you bury yourself under the covers, exhausted and happy and feeling...just a LITTLE...like a real hippie rennie.
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