"Will was looking at the dirt when his voice rose just audibly above the others, “My dad died two years ago.” It was particularly poignant because, while he felt like a close friend, I didn’t know much about his story. I’d only spent a few days crushed next to him on the road. The crew was taking a couple of days rest at his childhood home in Seattle before heading back to Vancouver. It had been awhile since he had stepped between his house’s old walls, which no longer had any photographs hanging on them. His ratty frame was a fresh six beers deep and taking strange steps, but I knew that he had chosen this time in particular to say something about his father. Five days on the road together was enough. I’m sure he was still reeling from that weighty overloaded sensation that accompanies taking in over 3,000 kilometers of distinct planet. Apparently a road trip will do that to you. The reality of not having an inch of privacy is juxtaposed with that infinite freedom that can only come from having time to do whatever the hell it is that you want to do, and a wheel and some tires that will take you wherever the fuck it is that you want to go. Thoughts that once felt sincerely personal begin feeling intimately free and space around you fills in as your head throbs with the thought, “Fuck it all, I’m out here.” There was a sense of solidarity in the failures of our trip, and I knew that once rested we would get in the car and we would have to drive again." -Sasha Barkans
An excerpt from “Water In The fuel”. Featured on Desillusion magazine with support from Sitka