It was cool enough this morning, but the sun is now cooking the desert alive and I’m sweating pretty badly. Venturing across Navajoland, I come across the aged shell of an abandoned gas station bathed in graffiti. One mural is two large eagle feathers tide together, with the phrase, STILL HERE, sprayed in red paint below. On the other side K-Town is written, slang for Kayenta, a town close to the east. The wind is cutting through the power lines along the highway and the monster cottonwood creaks. There’s a bunch of dogs barking from a nearby residence while an old Navajo drags a pallet on a chain behind his 77 Chevy, grading the dirt road back to the house.