Generations of men tried to cross from East to West through the main wagon path in what it is now the city of Denver. Everyone lost someone, buried deep in the soil.
Bones and dust.
Where before there was an ocean, now only fossils remain. This path was made out of dust. Bones and dust. Digging deep, blinded by the shine of gold fever. The sun bounces off a river made of cars, crushing stones in its path, one by one. Neon, shining in the dark with endless glow filling up the cracks of that rotten Colfax Av. motel.
Gold, bones, dust & lust.
The sun, the gold, the cars, the neon. Leftovers of human trace that were thrown away like cigarette buds.
