He asks the desk clerk what’s going on in town. He and Edgar have passed through Phoenix countless times, and he’s sick of the same old pool halls and miniature golf courses but doesn’t feel like spending another night in front of the television.

“You can still catch the game at Municipal Stadium,” the clerk says.

Jesse’s wary of taking Edgar anywhere there’s a crowd. He never knows how he’ll react to the noise and confusion. But sitting outside, drinking cold beer sure sounds like a nice way to pass the evening. He asks Edgar what he thinks, and his response—bouncing with excitement—convinces him to take the chance.

“If you start making monkeys, I’ll drag you out so fast your head’ll spin,” he warns his brother.

“You’re the boss,” Edgar replies.

They drive to the stadium and settle into a couple of cheap seats. It’s the bottom of the fourth inning. The stadium lights shine down as bright as the sun on the green grass and red dirt of the field, transforming it into an oasis that defies both the darkness and the desert.

The players’ uniforms gleam, music throbs in the warm air, and wherever Jesse turns he sees happy faces. He allows himself the briefest fantasy that he’s safe among these people, but the reality is, if they knew he and Edgar were rovers, they’d tear them to pieces.

Edgar’s thoughts are nowhere near as bleak. He’s enjoying the game even though he barely understands what’s going on. Jesse’s explained the rules to him a hundred times, but they never stick. Instead, he looks to other spectators for cues, cheering when they cheer, stomping and chanting, “Let’s go, Giants, let’s go,” when they stomp and chant.

He spots a boy eating a hot dog and decides he wants a hot dog too.

“I’ll get you one later,” Jesse says.

“I’m hungry now,” he says. “Come on, good buddy.”

Jesse looks for a vendor, but none are nearby. What he does see is a man in the row below theirs taking beer orders from his friends.

“How many?” the man asks. “You want one? You?” His pals hand him money, and when he pulls out his wallet to cram the bills inside, Jesse notices a lot of cash already stashed there. The guy’s been drinking. He knocks his ball cap off scratching his head and nearly falls picking it up. His friends send him on his way with catcalls and good-natured shoves.

“Wait right here,” Jesse says to Edgar.

“Attaboy,” Edgar says. “Mustard and ketchup. You know how I like ’em.”