Hayduke

Rising before the sun, in the silver-blue dawn, he made coffee on his tiny Primus stove. “Chemicals! Chemicals! I need chemicals!” he chanted, Hayduke’s morning mantra. Through the lonesome pines he saw an orb of plasmic hydrogen, too bright to face, come up suddenly over the wrinkled ridges of the Painted Desert. A cool flute music floated out of nowhere: a hermit thrush.

This is my personal account and all opinions and content are my own.

Prouns: he/him
Religion: [A|a]theist
Politics: Redacted