“You can lay your pack on the floor or throw it behind you—plenty of space back there.” Jack lays his pack on the black rubber floor mat, pulls on his seat belt, and clicks it into place, and the driver puts out his hand. “Matías.”

They shake. “My name is Jack. I appreciate your kindness. You’re the first person I’ve seen all day.”

Matías looks to his side mirror, the truck jerks into motion, and he starts working up through the gears as they gain speed. They are moving forward, and Jack is sitting in air-conditioned bliss.

“You’re lucky,” the driver says. “From the direction you’re leaving, there are riots—people protesting back in Santiago.”

“What are they protesting?”

“The high transit costs, and defending human rights.”

“It’s sad. In the United States, protests are usually about guns and school shootings and police violence against minorities. The world we live in has grown full of madness.”

“It has, my friend.” Matías looks over at him and says, “You look worn. How long have you been walking?”

“I am very tired. I have been walking in the heat for what seems like many, many hours. Again, I cannot thank you enough for stopping.” Jack bends forward, pulls a bottle of water from his pack. Unclips it. Twists the cap and lifts it to his lips. Coating the dryness in his mouth, replenishing and hydrating his insides.

“It’s no problem. I travel this stretch of road often. You say you’re headed north. What draws you up there?”

Swallowing, Jack lowers the bottle, rests it on the seat between his legs. His brain feels sluggish, and he’s slow to answer, letting the cool air blast over his flesh. Mini soccer balls hang like dice from the center mirror, and the dash is lined with bobble-head dolls of what Jack supposes are soccer players, all attired in numbered jerseys.

“Yes,” he tells Matías, “I’d like to see Bolivia and then cross over to Peru and up into Colombia. I’m in no rush. I’ve nothing but time. I just want to see as much of South America as possible while I’m figuring some things out.”

A red, white, and blue flag with a single white star covers the cab’s headliner. It is the flag of Chile. And Matías tells Jack, “I can get you to the border. But first I have a delivery, to a local mine just outside Calama.”

“Whatever you can do, I greatly appreciate. And I’ll pay you if I can manage to find a Western Union. I was robbed in San Pedro, so unfortunately, I have no money to compensate you for helping me out.”

“Robbed—that’s horrible, my friend.”

Waving a hand, Jack tells him, “I deserved it. I should have paid better attention to people. But then, I figure, they needed it more than I did.”