What’s left? he asked. Is there nothing? We didn’t come all this way for nothing, hands on his hips. That dry air. You can smell it. There’s got to be something. You just can’t do that to people. It’s not right, he pulled a pack of cigarettes from his front pocket. What do you think? she shook her head. Don’t you have any thoughts? We should’ve read the fine print, he lit up. Should’ve known it was too good to be true.

The two got in the pickup and drove around town. Passed the gas station that sold live bait. Drove on Main Street and went by taverns and diners. A couple of five and dime stores. No motels. It was getting dark. He parked the Ford on a side street and rolled down the windows so the cool night air could come through. They looked at each other and laughed.

We can always go back, she said. There’s no rule in admitting a mistake was made, she placed her hand on his face.

I wanted things to be different, he told her. Wanted to see America. The real America. You know. White fences. Trimmed shrubs. Hair cuts for ten dollars. Instead, we’re right back where we started from. Dusty streets. Graffiti on buildings. Parking lots. All towns are the same. There’s no difference between St. Louis and Gary. Both have been beaten down. This whole country has been beaten down, she ran her hand through his black hair.

On the corner, men were congregating with bottles of whiskey. A fire was set in a barrel. The smell of burning newspaper came through their vents. The men cursed and laughed. Pushed each other. Swinging wildly. Not a single punch landed. Just old men hitting air.

Let’s get out of here, he said.

Where we going?

Some other place. Wherever the road leads us.