Gladys filled my cup. “Don’t go to the City anymore,” she said. “Too many coloureds for comfort sake.”

The milkshake was thick. The burger was overcooked, and the fries tasted as though they had been boiled in crankcase oil. I was tempted to suggest that Gladys might try rubbing a french fry on her bad hip.

“And when you get to Texas, make sure you keep going. Friend of mine had a car break down in Amarillo, and she’s still there.”

I had a piece of apple pie for dessert. Scoop of vanilla ice cream. It wasn’t any better than the fries. I drank more coffee, watched the cars go by on West Gary, read a local advertiser that offered everything from end-of-the-year discounts on trailers to water-well drilling. Howe Motors had a big ad on page three.

Gladys was waiting at the register.

“If you get to Gallup,” she said as she rang up the bill, “be sure to stop in at Earl’s. North side of the road by the tracks. Not much to look at, and it’s run by a bunch of Navajos. But the food’s jake.”

It was getting on evening when I stepped out of the café and started walking to the interstate. The air had cooled. It wasn’t comfortable, but it gave you hope that the world wasn’t going to go up in flames anytime soon.

I had gotten a couple of blocks when a white Cadillac sedan pulled over to the curb. And I hadn’t even put my thumb out.

“Hey, there.”

Bobbie Sherman Darnell.

I squatted down next to the open window.

“How was the food?”

“Don’t order the fries or the pie.”

Bobbie laughed. “I should have warned you. But they got good milkshakes.”

“Nice car.”

“Perks of the job,” she said. “I can drive anything I can stick a key in.”

“So, you’re done for the day?”

“Off to get Buddy,” said Bobbie. “He’s out at the club.”

“Golfing, right?”

“More like bullshitting and drinking. Probably reliving the high school state championship again.”

The light was dropping. I liked talking to Bobbie, but I needed to get to an on-ramp with enough light left for people to be able to see me.

“Buddy don’t realize it yet,” she said, “but for him, high school is as good as it’s ever going to get.”

“You know how far it is to Gallup?”

“I’d give you a ride, but there’s not much point.” Bobbie smiled and turned the radio up. “Runaway” by Del Shannon. “You’re going somewhere, and I’m not.”

IT’S AFTER NINE, and Mimi has yet to make an appearance.

“Today, in The New York Times,” says Oz, “there is an article on Prague.”

I’m still working the globe, trying to see how the refugees might get from Syria to Sweden.