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We broke down at the base of a mountain, way out west past the Hutchinson plains. I was more lost than I'd ever been and I must admit I found it kind of ironic that I was straining for a signal while you were drowning in a sea of them. I wore you around my wrist for 6,000 miles and 113 days. I reminded myself every day that the ground we were standing on was the same – just separated by a couple thousand miles and a few imaginary lines. I was counting the miles. You were counting the days. Ain't it strange that the numbers we wanted were moving in opposite ways?