Frank had a weird attraction to places seemingly devoid of life, places he could perfuse with his own. The secretive critters could take in the full shape of it from their hiding places, the wind-smoothed crevices could listen in to something different than the customary tubular howls, and the wind-swept tumbleweeds could slowmotion elope with a new companion. He could lose himself in an ocean of stargazing rocks, but by closing his eyes, he could find constellations in this seemingly random arrangement of scattered debris. Laying on the bare soil, he could feel his heart pounding the earth, a soul otherwise constrained by the noise of just about everything else, endlessly unravelling.