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I’ve been driving for a few hours. I don't have a specific destination, I'm headed towards the middle of the desert. I keep the accelerator pressed, I have no more gears to change. Not that there are speed limits in this area, there are no roads either. I keep driving until the tank is empty, the car loses its acceleration, and continues to travel for a while thanks to inertia alone. The car stops completely, I put it in first gear, pull the handbrake and turn it off. I get out of the car and open the trunk, unloading everything I need.
I prepare the beach umbrella, fill the base with sand to hold it in place, assemble the pole and open it. A little shade to protect me from this boiling heat. The fabric has bright colours, it almost looks like a circus tent. I place the deckchair underneath it, it takes me longer than it should because I've never understood how to open these damned things without destroying my fingers, but with a few curses I manage to do it. It's very humble, beige, made of that fake plastic fabric. It's not the best but it almost gives me a sense of nostalgia. Like laying a bedsheet I cover it with a huge towel, with kittens with huge eyes printed on it. Pretty unnerving, honestly. To the right of the deckchair I prepare the folding table. I put a plastic bowl on top, open a bag of chips and fill it. Next to the table I place the portable mini fridge.
Now it's my turn to get ready. I take off my clothes and put on my swim trunks. The graphics printed on it are very reminiscent of The Great Wave off Kanagawa. I put on an old cap, yellow ocher, decorated with a team logo. I've never followed sports, yet somehow this hat ended up in my hands anyway. I lay down on the deckchair, open the mini fridge and take out a nice frozen can of beer. It's a cheap brand, low alcohol content, and when you drink it feels like you're licking an iron pipe. I open the can and take a nice sip. I feel the rust sticking to my esophagus, this metallic liquid swelling my stomach like a water balloon. Nice feeling, after all. To absorb the poison that I have just thrown into my body, I take a handful of chips and put them in my mouth, a symphony of crunchiness, in which my jaw acts as the conductor of the orchestra, my teeth as musicians. A cacophony so loud it obscures my own thoughts. These are also cheap chips, the shape is identical to that of another more famous brand, the name is a wordplay on the name of the latter, perhaps to avoid being mauled by the lawyers who would have been unleashed, maybe to trick some half-blind granny who wanted to buy snacks for her grandchildren. They are “cheese” flavored. But which cheese? This is just a simulacrum of cheese, chemical components specially arranged to make you imagine cheese. If cheese really tasted like this, we would have abandoned the idea thousands of years ago, when man started making milk moldy. But I like this fake, chemical flavor. Maybe I like it even more than the original version.
I turn my gaze towards the horizon. Nothing around me for thousands of kilometers. In the distance I can see the peak of some mountain, high enough to surpass the curvature of the Earth and reach my field of vision. The condensation-soaked can is in my left hand. I let out a little burp. I raise my right arm, and hold it horizontally in front of me. I close my greasy hand into a fist, and raise my thumb high, as if I were giving someone the OK. I close my left eye and look at my thumb with my right, as if I were taking aim with a rifle. I try to cover the top of a mountain with my thumb. Let's hope everything goes well.
While I'm here basking in metallic poison and nuggets of crunchy fat, I start to think. I'm here in the middle of nowhere gorging myself on rubbish, alone for thousands of kilometers, the only sound is that of my jaw chewing. This is the end, and I have taken the front row seat in front of the stage. Do I have regrets? No… maybe. It would be hypocritical to say that I have no second thoughts about anything, my life and my decisions. But at this point, on the brink of the apocalypse, would it be of any use?
Honestly? I'm happy. Because despite everything I did many good things. I don't think I have left my footprint on the great path of History, but I think I have left my mark in the souls of the right people, the people I loved and who loved me, and in my opinion in the end this is the most important thing. So yes, I am at peace. I drink cheap beer and eat nauseating chips, but at least they make me feel alive. Maybe for the last time. They're not even the best beers or the best chips because sometimes that's okay. Sometimes being happy with what you have is okay. Of course, aiming for the best is right, but if you don't reach it you shouldn't whip yourself. I can go on and on about cheese all I want, but that's not the point. We can focus on useless things endlessly, just to avoid facing the real problems. Because somehow at the end of this journey we will all find ourselves in the middle of the desert, under an umbrella, drinking and eating what we bought with the money we earned. And I don't think anyone who eats caviar and drinks champagne under an umbrella is as at peace as I am right now. Simply champagne and caviar are not suitable for an aperitif on the beach. At least, not in my aperitif. My skin will burn, my eyes will melt, but that's okay, because I know I did the most I could have done, I know that-
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A strong, blinding light. Everything around me is white. Shortly after a very strong wave of wind hits me, almost knocking me off the deckchair. I raise my right arm, and hold it horizontally in front of me. I close my hand into a fist, and raise my thumb high, as if I were giving someone the OK. I close my left eye and look at my thumb with my right, as if I were taking aim with a rifle. I try to cover the Mushroom with my thumb. It's too big, I can't cover it. I make a final toast with my last can of beer.
Everything is fine.
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