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We keep meaning to get on the road, travel to our next destination, wherever that is. Or at least leave the room, go walking through the red and gold trees of Bloomington. Fresh air and all that. But we can’t seem to move from this motel room, this bed ( Read more... )

We were lying on our backs staring at the motel room ceiling, our fingers twined.

"Wow," I breathed, feeling the cool sheen of sweat on my skin. "We've never done that before ( Read more... )

( Our wait time was approximately two minutes. )

( It felt like a Mexican standoff )

I heard him go out for his run and stretched out across the bed with an indulgent sigh. We were in Bloomington, Indiana, and my last memories of Bloomington were fond ones, for the most part. It was an odd town, with freakish people and a misunderstood man who I secretly still hold dear to my heart ( Read more... )

This morning, I woke before the sun was up, possessed with an urge to go running, something I hadn't done in a long time. It was too hot to run in Mexico and, lately, the only exercise I'd gotten was unrolling the window at drive-thrus and other more strenuous activities that don't bear repeating here ( Read more... )

Driving through the Midwest consists of driving past a thousand miles of flat land, tractors and Wal-Marts. I slept, read, counted blue cars. We talked about the past--old cases, the oddest things we'd seen, the time we tried to watch Caddyshack and miserably* magnificently failed ( Read more... )