Cancer 15. A man in an air-conditioned space suit crossing the desert.
There is no sweating in my suit as I walk through the land of nothing. I’m hermetically sealed, starlight and breezes captured within my attire to carry me across the dunes under the burning sun. The surface of my suit is the interface between me and death, for I have realized that the secret to traveling through desolation is to become the oasis. Excuse me, now, for I must return to silence, so as to allow the words echoing through my helmet to subside.