Saturday morning. Or afternoon. Who the fuck knows at this point. I’m in the front passenger seat of a Jaguar F-PACE hurtling toward a lightning storm somewhere in the mountains outside Sedona, perspiring cocaine from a bevy of glands, pores, fissures, and previously undiscovered openings in my vessel. In front of us is maybe the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. Also possibly the most dangerous. Rust-colored stone. Rouge sand. Mountains stacked against the horizon like so