“Yeah, come on. There’s only half left anyway, right? Give it to me. Now Abe, give me the bun with the secret sauce. Not the other one, that’s blank! Ahhh, hahahahahahaha, what a burger, Jesus, give me the secret sauce. Jim, hand over that smidgin of lettuce, right, okay, and the ketchup in its convenient poison-proofed pill-sized container. Fine, fine. Abe, hand over the malt. Yeah, you win! Hand it over. The fries, hmm, well, let’s just mess them all together here, on the seat here, that’s okay. Where’d that ketchup go? Slip down the straw, did it? Squirt it on there, Abe, and watch out you don’t get it all on one fry. Right. There we have it, bros. Le Grand Compromis, the greatest American meal of all time! Fantastic! Dig in!”

“Whoah.”

“Think I’ve lost my appetite, here.…”

When they’re done eating, Sandy takes over the controls and turns them back toward home. It’s late, he’s got another full day tomorrow.

They track down the Newport Freeway, on the underlevel, the adscreens hanging from the underside of the upper level, flashing over them is a colorful subliminal parade of words, images, images, words. BUY! NEW! LOOK! NOW! SPECTAC! They slump back in their seats, watch the lights streak in the car windows.

No one speaks. It’s late, they’re tired. There’s a feeling in the car that is somehow … elegiac. They’ve just performed one of their rituals, an old, central ritual that seems to have been a part of their lives always. How many nights have they cruised autopia and talked, and eaten a meal, and looked at the world? A thousand? Two thousand? This is how they were friends together. And yet this night it feels, somehow, as if this may have been the last time they will perform this particular ritual. Nothing lasts forever. Centrifugal forces are tugging on all their lives, on their collective life; they feel it, they know that the time is coming when this long childhood of their life will have to end. Nothing lasts forever. And this feeling lies as heavy in the car as the smell of French fries.…

Sandy punches a button and his window slides down. “An eyedropper for the road?”

After they enter SCP’s parking garage and Abe and Tash have walked off to their cars, Sandy gestures Jim back to him. Scratching his head sleepily, he says, “Jim, have you seen much of Arthur lately?”

“Oh, a little. Once since we got back, I guess.”

Sandy considers what line of questioning would be best. “Do you know if he’s involved in anything, you know, anything more serious than those posters he puts up?”

Jim blushes. “Well, you know. I’m not really sure.…”