Sand. Sand. Sand. It’s everywhere. It wasn’t resources running out, or atomic war, or flood, or zombies. It’s sand. People are living in it; not many people, and is it really what you’d call living? Four women. They’re alone. They’re angry. They’re frightened. They can’t get the goddamn sand out of their ears. They’re carrying and dragging the remnants of that trusty old social wisdom that informs each of them that difference is the great divider. And when Holy books and cars and televisions, vibrators, grandmother’s jewellery, temples and airplanes and McDonalds have all been ground up and are waded through, what’s that difference worth? Does this cruel and unusual punishment have a point, or did they just miss the end-of –the-world memo? Overnight the world has turned to sand, and the women wading through it are lost at sea. Figuratively speaking. Because it’s sand. It’s all sand.