Michael sat down in the middle of the road and began to cry. He sat, shoulders heaving, a high whinnying noise choked out of his mouth. He pushed the palms of his hands on his eye sockets. In the wet blackness, he saw yellow shooting stars. His hairy legs were thin and boney poking out of his cut-off jeans. He had not washed in three days. The armpits and neck of his t-shirt were yellow with grime.
After a few moments, he recovered himself. Leaned back in on the dirt road and sighed.
He threw his head back, looked up at the sky. Tiny black vultures pinwheeled above him.
Google maps. Google freaking maps.
Shading his eyes with his palm he surveyed the desert around him. On the horizon, he saw the blackened shell of his rental car. Tiny wisps of smoke trailing its outline. He drained the last sip from his water bottle. It was at that point that the lion came into view.
