He let the heat wrap him until the mountains gave way to the alien invasion of the wind turbines, then rolled up the windows and air-conditioned himself. No alien air for him today; besides, he needed to get rid of the cat.

The outlet stores of Cabazon were now behind him, thirty minutes out of the desert; the white gloss shopping bag sat on the passenger seat, the neat folds of his purchase collapsed into a crumple. For the next part of the journey he relished the thought of the suits he had just bought at irresistable knock-down prices. So, mentally dressed in Armani and Gucci, he drove off the interstate and entered the sprawl. He was getting sorted, that would bring some calm, a sliver at least. But he wasn’t carrying, yet.

Packing heat, that is.

A gun, that is.

The LA basin was waiting with its lid on; the sun had done its damage to the nitrogens, creating ozone, resulting in the photochemical smog. Eyes burn from PAN – no God of the wild, but peroxyacyl nitrates; breathing becomes harder, buildings form pollutants on their surface; the people spew out their dolly mixture of emotions and, well, everyone wants your blood, and when all the blood is gone, the soul is easy pickings. The Angels have to work hard in their city recovering all those lost souls.

One hundred and ten miles, north-west a bit, towards the middle section, where the wealth increases and the buildings change and the time invested in the environment becomes apparent.

Ever was driving into Beverly Hills. No e at the end of Beverl-y. One of the first things he’d learnt about American culture. That, and always be positive, and if someone asks you how you are, don’t tell them beyond great. Never say how shitty you really feel.

*

In Palm Springs, Ever had stayed in a room at The Willows Hotel that had once been inhabited by Albert Einstein, and it was there that he put the proposal to himself.

The connection within his brain that received the proposal interpreted it as a solution, and it seemed less than odd. It seemed completely and refreshingly understandable. He knew why it was, he knew why he was there.

Ever considered himself English, though born in America and ambitious in the very general sense of the word, with a desire, through that ambition, to accomplish whatever he set his mind to. But, to achieve this particular ambition, he just needed to be lifted out by the bored child that had piled the blocks; picked up by the neck and saved. Saved to carry out his purpose.

Out of the sprawl, that to him was everywhere.