“The edge… there is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who have gone over.” — Hunter S. Thompson
I’m standing on the sun-scorched shore of Bali, staring across a measly 32 kilometers of ocean toward Lombok, and I’m supposed to believe this invisible line—this Wallace Line—is some kind of cosmic Berlin Wall for beasts. No tiger dares tread here. No bird flaps its wings across. Not even a damn sea turtle, those oceanic nomads who’ll swim a thousand miles for a nostalgic beach, will cross this puny stretch of water. It’s not just a line; it’s a middle finger to evolution, a barrier that says, “You stay on your side, and I’ll stay on mine.” And I’m here, sweating through my notebook, to figure out why the hell nature respects this invisible fence like it’s electrified.
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