There are only a few places we can pull off and be surrounded by land: the Sacramento mountains in New Mexico, the dirt roads that exit off the Interstate in West Texas, Highway 50 in Nevada. Highway 50, we share a wide spot with a mound of sand waiting for highway workers next winter. You shut the truck off then pull the chairs from under the belly box. We set up the tray table, put the bowl of dog food on the ground. The rice and black beans is hot in the pot. I make a mound of bowls, cups, spoons, salt, tabasco. The hot pot goes on the floor next to the clutch and the brake pedal. The coffee carafe now holds tea. I ease out my side, slide down to the ground. Cross in front of the silent grill, not even pinging, coated with bugs dry as petroglyphs. Truck rises a white wall behind our backs, we set food and utensils on the flormica table. I pour tea into metal cups. Everything settles but the wind and the sky. The wind skirts, picks up a funnel of sand and moves it to a farther stretch, while the grass ripples under its feet. The sky, it picks up a color and runs with it. Starts at the horizon, burnt yellow, and stretches that color fainter and fainter, mile on mile. We sit. We watch. We wait for the next ribbon of color like fireworks on Fourth of July. Tip the dog wanders to the edge of the gravel then lays down facing out, head up. From the back, one black ear, one gray. The wind runs fingers through his fur. No cars pass.

Las Vegas. After we deliver at Norstrom, we park at the downtown truck stop and walk. It's so early on The Strip, a few men in dress pants are still laying where the night finally shut them down, off to the side on the sidewalk. The small store owners are outside, in front of their windows picking up pieces of paper and getting ready to give out new ones.

The casinos don't hesitate. Sure, they drop a level or two. Soon a few gamblers will step out of their rooms. Air freshener, carpet cleaner. Ride the elevators down to the gaming floor.

You and I, out on the street, keep walking until we get to all the fountains. We walk straight into the Bellagio. I ask for a seat in smoking because it's a smaller area with booths. I pile my plate with grilled eggplant and asparagus, slices of cheese and fruit. We smile, click our glasses of champagne.