A naked man wearing nothing but an astronaut’s helmet walks down a lonely stretch of highway. I first see him up ahead as a tiny speck, but each second brings more clarity in my vision. On an empty portion of burning pavement in pancake flat Kansas, this man steps toward his destination, whatever that might mean.
“You need a ride?” I ask through my open window, my car creaking to a standstill.
He opens the door and slides into the front seat, inches away from me. I can’t see his face through the copper-colored screen. I think: should’ve got those damn seat covers.