Chapter 4

The diner is pretty much it, roadside attraction-wise, at this particular exit. Actual Barstow is still maybe five miles off. We stop at the adjacent gas pumps, as long as we’re off the highway, then cross through the gift shop to the men’s room, and eventually to a booth and two cups of coffee.

“Are you gonna get a sandwich?” I ask him as I peruse the plastic-placemat menu.

“Uh huh,” he says, nodding. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a craving for a Monte Cristo before.” He laughs. “I’m not even a hundred percent sure I know what one is. I just know you dip it in jam.”

“I think I’m gonna get an omelet,” I volunteer. I make a show of scrutinizing the description on the menu. “Unless they have strawberries in them…”

“Gross.”

“Well. They put them in everything else.”

“They put them in pie.”

“And jam.”

“And I bet that’s pretty much it.”

“Don’t be so sure…”