You’ve seen them before, these mirages. Out away from the Super Targets and Paneras, beyond the masses of boxy throwaway homes spilled out upon the strip-mined hillsides. Out where there’s enough space and light and straight highway running out into the horizon. You see a viscous black liquid pooling in the low points in the roadway through the shimmer of heat. It gathers and spills to adjacent hollows like mercury. It grows and dissipates like a breathing organism. Then it’s gone. You feel vindicated, because you knew it was just your eyes and the heat and distance playing tricks on you.