I drove with abandon on the semi-broken sometimes dirt road called Route 66, as the dream smooth hurtling along, even at only fifty miles per hour or so, disappeared behind us. We were finally headed in the right direction, east, instead of the circuitous selections Matt had chosen to throw off any pursuit that was likely ever coming.

“Find us another hole-in-the-wall cheap motel where we can refuel this thing,” Matt instructed.

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