At the edge of a field, we are sitting cross legged in the grass. Our backs are hunched and our faces are caked with a day's worth of grime. We are too tired to sleep. We are too wiped out to talk. We have just enough in us to sit by each other under the sky and look at it. We let our thoughts take over and soon enough, eyes wide open, we lie on our backs.

In the morning, we wash our faces with water that smells of metal. Our smiles are sparkling clean. We leave like thieves, quick and light footed. After a bit, our pace drops and we trudge along. Our footprints in the soil are fleeting, they look real for a bit and disappear under a gust of wind. 

By noon, we are barely recognizable. We are two little dots against the bare expanse of a rural town. We have no place to be and no place to stay. Observed from a distance, we have covered some distance but we haven't reached anywhere at all. 

By night, we are gone. We were never there. And that can't be argued because nobody saw us. We were our only alibis and we aren't there to confirm it.