"Sounds nice," he says, briefly trying to picture what she describes. What he envisions has a greater appeal than the gleaming chrome and buzzing neon of the diner; it's no more or less right, he thinks, but it resonates, if quietly.

She pushes another napkin his way and he picks it up. This time, at least, it comes away a little cleaner once he's finished. "And we all show up in the desert? Seems like a poor kind of welcome."