Let me tell you what I’m getting so worked up over! Have you ever slept in a tent with two lesbians?” “Yeah, I have. And I didn’t like it one bit.” “Can we make a pit stop here?” I asked. “I’m thirsty.” A little green food truck was set up on a brick foundation. Long benches stained with ketchup and butter stood off to the side under some trees. It was a kind of rest stop, a safe haven with amiable female dancers, children’s songs, and soft-spoken birds, where travelers could share the latest news, warning their fellow sojourners about upcoming traps and danger. We were the only customers right now, though. A heavyset woman with pink hair and red nails came out of the food truck, gave us a deeply skeptical look, took our order, and disappeared back inside. Tamara and I were sitting on the bench in tense silence; Seva had decided to stay back in the car, but he asked us to bring him back a hot meal. The sun was warming up the autumn fields the best it could and the warm eastern wind brought us the smells of smoke and dry grass.
