The Pipes Man limbered up to the corrugated barrier with wild eyes. What lay behind was just a fragment of the past, but he pressed forward into it regardless, scraping his gut painfully as he took the fence.
Patches of green broke the dust and clay, a solitary crow flew up to a solitary tree. He recalled long walks with Centurion before things had gotten complicated, and wondered why he bothered with anything at all. Such a tedium to shoot a tree. A bore to make anything of this other than what it already is, when a rendering by his eye can only be inferior to actually just being here and enjoying a moment of calm.
The Pipes Man tried to enjoy his moment, but the machine itched and he felt like tearing the fucking thing out.