Sandra Banks's Questionnaire

Sandra rides her horse past a sign reading "I-59 N" and "Houston: 50 Miles". Sweat drips from her face, running through the remnants of ash, dust and sand that coat her face. It is clear she is not yet used to the humidity that is so present in this part of the state. She looks to the two in her posse, and stares off into the distance, remembering where she had been hours ago, the Kansas area of the new dust bowl. Dry, brittle and sun charred, turning plains and farmland into a mock desert. The land was dying from overproduction. Heading west was her only option, unless she wants to do nothing but sit and treat the symptoms of a dying world.