Dave Rastovich looks like he’s been washed ashore.
He is lying on the southern edge of the Australian landmass, on a beach, on a spongy bed of rotting seaweed, in repose, hands folded across his chest, legs crossed, a white floppy hat crowned by an eagle feather pulled down over his face, a swarm of sand flies forming a halo around his head, eyes closed, nostrils whistling, lights out, cooked.
As he likes to describe it, Rastovich is currently experiencing an “altered state.”
How did he get here? Twenty-four hours earlier, Rastovich had flown halfway across Australia, driven overnight, only stopping to violently evacuate his stomach after contracting food poisoning from a truck stop, didn’t sleep a wink because he has a rule about never falling asleep in the passenger…
