The grasping came from the darkness. Rubber on asphalt. Shadows at noon. He ran to the desert. Vegas, baby. That’s the spot. Not a tree for a hundred miles. Open desert and flat roads. The clouds can get him but they’re rare out here. His problem was the heat. And sleep. He had to stay in the light. He walked with a limp from the time he made the slip. It nearly pulled him in. Got the bottom of his foot nearly to the bone. He wrenched free just in time. The sole was still tender. He stayed off it as best he could. The wrap around his foot made shifting difficult. Even with the padding traffic hurt. The clutch stuck. It was getting late. He had to make it back before dark, had to get to the Strip. He’d crash on the concourse. Lights flashing, strumming, numbing. He needed a pause. He needed a spot to rest. Ahh, the sole. Sunset soon. He had to get back. Sixth gear and flying. A truck…