One day spills into the next in the heat and dust of this old town, where the paint peels from the storefront signage and nobody can be made to fix it up. The road ahead glistens and scrolls like a badly tuned tv, and the sound of the motor beds into you until you don't notice it, anymore, and relinquish your sense of sound to a strange memory, like when you get a song stuck in your head and it seems to play back without your intervention.

We're looking for gas. Not for the tank, for the cooker. One of those small bottles that don't take up the whole place. No luck, so far; only exchanges. With nothing to hand over, I leave the forecourt empty-handed, again. In this heat, it's all I can do not to fall asleep at the wheel, and the roads are so empty, it's kind of tempting. I park up along the old wine warehouse to steal a bit of shade, take a load off for a minute and talk it out with Byron, whose whining has been a little draining, over the last half-hour.

With nobody around, I extend myself a longer welcome and hop in the back for a siesta. An hour-and-a-half later, a passing truck shakes the van and brings me back in, where I left off. Hungry, now, I stretch and flick on the light. It bounces off the far wall, creating a cozy vibe that doesn't make me want to get up. So I don't; I just lie there, like a lump. I stare at Byron. He stares at me. Nobody moves.

A while later, when stomachs start to groan, I put on the radio and boil up a can of soup with an herbal tea and a slice of bread. Byron sleeps through it. I have to put a treat in front of his nose to get him up and back into his seat. We still need gas and time's not on our side. This town held out on us, so I fire up the motor and head out into the sticks to see what the next one has to say for itself. As I pull out from the shade of the warehouse, I realize it's the weekend. Might not have any luck until Monday. Sandwiches and porridge oats for the time being, then.

I've lived on less.

The journey to the next settlement is pretty short, but I can see there's nothin' doin', so I skip it and keep rolling. Twenty minutes later, I find my eyes closing again, and decide enough is enough. It's been a long day in the heat and we're both done with it. Finding nowhere suitable for a full stop, I tuck in beside a curry field and call it a day. By now, the sun's starting to lay off and there's a bunch of heavy cloud moving in. Just a few minutes later, the wind's picked up something crazy and the first rumble of thunder sets the mood for a long, stormy night.

The rain pounds the roof and walls. The wind pushes and pulls the wagon, swaying it from side to side, and the flashes make it through the cracked curtain. The conditions are perfect for a cozy night, tucked up with my boy under my arm, in warm lamp light. I make one last hot drink on the last puff of gas and kill the power, to listen to the storm that sends me back to sleep.