And don’t tell ‘em I sent you.
To say I was apprehensive was an overwhelming understatement. Don’t tell ‘em I sent you!
EVERY MANSION NEEDS A DUCKPOND BY HANNAH LUSH 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 23
“Guys don’t have to wear pants, girls don’t have to wear shirts, and if you want to shoot a computer dressed up as a sea monster, well, we’ve already done it. Try being original.”
I laughed at the image forming in my mind: a clothing-optional shooting range.
“It’s one of our favorite activities,” our unofficial tour guide, Dan, continued as we strolled through the dust of East Jesus. The desert was vast and all around us. I walked ahead, eager to take in the weirdness.
We had gotten lost a few times on the way to this place, driving down deadend roads, barely making it over some powdery dirt hills, fearfully imagining the horrors that would befall us in the remote outskirts of Niland, California, should we become stranded.
A small town past Indio and east of the Salton Sea, Niland barely hung on to the reaches of cell phone …