El Cosmico, Marfa: that surreal plane of dusty land, old airstream trailers and tepees. You can spend days there, feeling outside of time, lost in the rhythm of morning coffee on the porch, outdoor baths and showers rushed from the cold, afternoon naps in a swinging hammock, evening beer under one of their sheds, and long nights spent watching the stars move. I go in the winter, when the days are cool and the nights are so cold the solid earth freezes. I spend daylight hours between the porch, drinking Topo Chico and laughing at old memories, and inside, reading aloud (Vanity Fair smut always provides the most popular of my bedtime stories). The simple act of making coffee or taking a bath can be drawn out into an event, a many-hour ritual that somehow evokes early life on the Texas prairie. And yet even though each activity takes so much longer than usual, the days feel endless and languid, punctuated only by the sudden excitement of a dust storm or a chance encounter.