The road to Marfa
We pulled the car over. On one side of the empty road, the moon had risen above the mountains; on the other side, the sun had just a few minutes before it sunk below the horizon. In between was a tiny, storefront building. Its windows glowed, displaying a small assortment of shoes and handbags.
We had arrived at Prada Marfa after a long day of driving. Its appearance in the middle of nowhere was a fitting closure to our lonely drive. Earlier we had driven for hours on 180, hardly seeing another car. The only crazy happened at El Paso, when the traffic and the endless strip malls gave us flashbacks to LA. But all that quickly fell away to…nothing. There is really nothing out here.
We arrived in town after dark. There wasn’t a person to be seen, but windows glowed—even our rented house had a light on for us. We walked inside and flipped the light switch for each room. This is an old house and the rooms have been added on one at a time. It feels like a little cabin with its heirloom furniture, old appliances, and quirky details.
Coming here to this small town of 2000 people after LA, London, and Berlin is a shock. I am interested to see how it works for us. I have never lived in such a small and secluded place.