[Late at night in the wide open desert, it's the way lights pop in and out that's just as striking as the road coming and going. He's tired of pushing the damn bike but at least it happened at night, where at this time of year it's dry and cool out.
But the road comes back, and the lights come back too, little pinpoints of towns along the river on both sides of some imaginary line drawn in the sand and mesquite, and now ahead, too, as border villages merge into the sprawling network of El Paso and Ciudad Juárez. He looks at that car Chrissy points out, parked outside a movie theater, and nods.]
Yeah, I remember seein' ones like it. All right, well, let's hope the 80s here aren't too damn weird, I just wanna get through.
[And get gas, before they run out of modernity again. It's some bullshit, because he could probably drive all the way to Tucson on this tank if he knew he could rely on the interstate and some kind of temporal consistency, but whatever. There's a gas station ahead with its lights on, and hopefully that means the pumps are on, too, so he doesn't have to fuck around and find the switch.
Unfortunately, that level of optimism is clearly too much. Once parked, he grumbles and kicks one of the damn machines, then starts looking around for a button or valve or however this decade's manual override works.]
They probably got it inside the damn -
[He's looking at the little building itself, lights on but locked up for the night, when he spots the VMB tag with their signature spiral symbol sprayed just around the corner, next to an empty newspaper dispenser. His demeanor shifts, from casual but irritated to something on far higher alert as he scans the area.]
no subject
But the road comes back, and the lights come back too, little pinpoints of towns along the river on both sides of some imaginary line drawn in the sand and mesquite, and now ahead, too, as border villages merge into the sprawling network of El Paso and Ciudad Juárez. He looks at that car Chrissy points out, parked outside a movie theater, and nods.]
Yeah, I remember seein' ones like it. All right, well, let's hope the 80s here aren't too damn weird, I just wanna get through.
[And get gas, before they run out of modernity again. It's some bullshit, because he could probably drive all the way to Tucson on this tank if he knew he could rely on the interstate and some kind of temporal consistency, but whatever. There's a gas station ahead with its lights on, and hopefully that means the pumps are on, too, so he doesn't have to fuck around and find the switch.
Unfortunately, that level of optimism is clearly too much. Once parked, he grumbles and kicks one of the damn machines, then starts looking around for a button or valve or however this decade's manual override works.]
They probably got it inside the damn -
[He's looking at the little building itself, lights on but locked up for the night, when he spots the VMB tag with their signature spiral symbol sprayed just around the corner, next to an empty newspaper dispenser. His demeanor shifts, from casual but irritated to something on far higher alert as he scans the area.]
Are you fucking kidding? Out here?