The Drive to Uqbar (a continuing voyage)
By C. Holliday (Word Boy) & Keith Rose of The Drive to Uqbar
Installment no. 1
Sulfer. A trapezoid across the upper-right corner of the book’s rubbed–out leather cover, itself brownish black. The smog above Uqbar, he thought.
Mere speculation, of course, for he’d yet to see for himself those “angular, red-tiled rooftops” and “elegant eucalypti” aligned along the cobblestones of Uqbar’s “labyrinthine streets.” This was according to the encyclopedia, now open upon his lap. The drive had begun hundreds of days before— hundreds of days. He’d abandoned the highway for this vacant space beneath a dying electric sign; there were four ancient gasoline pumps; a small office; on a bench outside, a mason jar half-full of violet-berry pie.
He’d found the book orphaned on the floor in the geography aisle of an antiquarian’s shop. He tenderly moved through the brittle, unnumbered pages, each now powdered in the desert’s pink clay dust through which he’d been driving (in his yellow Volkswagen, a convertible Thing)—seconds into days turning to months, uncountable, like the tome’s innumerable entries.
A red blur (bus?) thundered by; dust plumes enveloped him. He blinked. Uqbar.
Perhaps . . . this road has no terminus.
Across the plains, pale fires blazed.
…to be continued