Because we’re headed to Valentine, Texas, a love letter in the desert, sky like a cloudy diamond, like milk, shimmering, electrostatic, crinkling our eyes and crackling in our hair. We peek in the windows at the Prada store, this installation in the wild, nature-beauty-art-and- commerce, all our human nonsense coalesced into one monument, our fingers on bright glass, our feet in red dirt, music from the van’s radio whirring out and into our ears, whipped up and lost in the wind.