Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore goes on for miles. The beach is made of rocks, not sand, and every rock looks like a tiny polished gem and there are signs up that say Do Not Remove Under Penalty of Law. This is why I drove the silent three and a half hours from Petoskey. I lie on my back on a bed of stones, arms out, legs crossed at the ankles, in the manner of dead JC. I scoop up big handfuls of rocks and let them drop and they fall through my fists and land like click clatter click. Lake Superior and then beyond that is Canada. This is the end of MI, the end of the country, the end of the century. And the waves roll in like shhh. Shhh. Shhh. When I stand it’s my first time ever on two feet. I fill my pockets with rocks till they’re bulging, almost spilling out. This is why I came here and now I am going away.