We’d crossed back into Bolivia by that point. The sky threatened rain, the dessert land threated more dust storms, and the Andes mountains threatened landslides.

There on the side of the road was a car likely broken down. It had been hours since we’d seen a gas station. Hours since we’d seen anything really.

I’m sure that driver was freaking out. What do you do with a busted car in the middle of nowhere an hour from the border?

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