We were on 40, heading into California. To the right of us was the Mojave Desert. To the left was a bunch of stuff that looked exactly like the Mojave, but just didn’t make it into the land survey. We hadn’t seen anything but a decrepit rest area for miles. Looking out the window (which is what I spend an inordinate amount of time doing), I noticed a woman off in the distance, on the Mojave side, carrying shopping bags and walking fast, like she really had somewhere to go.
“What’s ahead of us?”
“Not much until we hit Barstow, which is about 30 miles on up.”
“Where the hell did that lady come from?”
“What lady?”
“That lady over there — she’s got grocery bags and is moving fast.”
