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As I walk down the brown dirt road I see a faded red building off to my right. It appears to be an old worn down saloon. The entry has a swinging door hanging on the left side, but seems to be missing the right side. I catch sight of it in the doorway, parallel to the floor. The door still attached to the wall had once been red but was faded by the sun and now holds a brownish color of the wood underneath with patches of red where the paint was laid thicker. Whitewash railings surround the whole porch except where the stairs drop down into the sandy dirt.
The wind blew through the doorway forcing the door to swing and the rust on the hinges cried out. Tumbleweeds fly in patterns as the wind tosses them around like toys. Clouds of dust arise with every gust of air, on the dry powdered earth. I can hear the howling of the wind through the bushes and the creaking of doors trying to fight against the turbulent breeze.
There is a nest made of dead timber and logs where small chipmunks are busy at work gathering and storing dust covered sunflower seeds that the last person left behind. Each chipmunk looked like their tiny extended cheeks were about to bust, but somehow managed to find additional room for more seeds. A baby chipmunk approached me as I reached out a handful of food to him. He bravely crawled on to my lap and after I dropped some seeds to him he swiftly stuffed them away and looked at me for more.
A feeling of being alone accompanies me with every step I take. All the sounds that I hear, each one sends a chill down my spine. Forcing me to stop and look around just to make sure I was alone. My mouth begs for any moisture, as it was all wicked away by the arid desert and scorching sun. Every time my feet left the ground, as I moved forward a small cloud of dust would rise up and join the free blowing air.