The air is thick and hot. It settles on you like a thin layer of fabric slowing your movements down. Forwards feels like a goal, like a battle. The sun seems absent yet, somehow always behind you, casting shadows among a scifi shade of orange. Unnatural shade of orange. Smog curtains you in, trees, mountains, distance, all left to foggy memory. The sound of crows rising up from some indeterminable direction. Maybe every direction. And if you squint your eyes a little and strain your ears, you might find yourself in that post apocalyptic existence meant only to be found in the aisles of fiction.