Matt pulled a folded-up package from one of the overly large breast pockets of his vest. The special photographer’s vest he’d gone on and on about earlier because of the new store on Del Mar in San Clemente called the Banana Republic. The place catered to men in what was called safari attire, like the vest. Half of a Jeep was angled down in the front window of the place. I’d driven by the store but never gone in. My reference to Matt’s vest as a fishing vest hadn’t gone over well so the subject was dropped. He unfolded what became a highway map in front of him.

“Can’t we stop somewhere and have a bite and take a rest?” I asked, fatigued to the bone, the relief of no police pursuit causing me to tire even more.

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