Bed of Nails

The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation —Henry David Thoreau   Lying on a bed of nails is not a bed of roses.   Maybe you happen to have been born on one, and you just call it life, in which the absence of petty quarrels and small brawls forebodes larger disaster—your crazy uncle going postal, your mother …

The Zabriskie Point

A group of youths decide to have a picnic in the park. They bring cushions from their couches and blankets from their beds to lounge on. They settle in the mud. Their bodies are clean despite being scented by cigarette smoke. Their breaths smell strongly of beer and/or soda. The covers of the cushions and the fabric of the blankets …