The more you stop, the farther you go.
Tallis chose five rocks and took aim. Three of my five shots had already found their mark—another road sign no one could read.
“One for one!” he called out.
There was certainly no shortage of stones. The northern Sahara consisted of stones piled in heaps, scattered over high plateaus, stone hills, stone valleys. Everything was ancient rock except for the narrow ribbon of black asphalt that snaked down the leeward side of Algeria’s Atlas Mountains. According to Jean-Luc, this was the desert. And he was, after all, the expert.
“Jean-Luc is getting on my nerves,” I said.
Tallis drilled the sign with another direct hit. “Two for two.”
“I can’t stand listening ...