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Every hundred years, we have a gathering.

The metal, well-oiled door of a thousand-year-old garage opens and launches a delightful industrial toy made by intelligent life.

It greets us with its smoke infused with rum, tar, vanilla, and tobacco.

Its robotic arms are collecting weed samples.

The roar of escorting motorbikes churns through the thin atmosphere, rushing through the recently re-asphalted irrigation canal system until the metallic sheen of their hoods vanishes in copper clouds of beastly sand.

Oh, welcome to the well-known intoxication of driving into infinite space...

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