"This was alien writing." Kyle pointed us up to Courthouse Wash, where parties unknown tried to scrub away the record of inhabitants here from before memory. They're faint, graffitied, just shining out above the highway. Jackal heads silently leer at our alien craft below. They hadn't planned on cars, but it's not likely that they're surprised. "With exhaust and dust and everything else, these will be gone soon. People think they last forever, but this is a different place." Back in Tennessee, an old friend makes it with concrete. Here the patient rock paintings are tucked into caves for safekeeping, hidden by dark from newer time. It's all there. You just have to look.