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Nathan hadn’t thought he could fall asleep so fast while on his heroin. Pixie's heroin. Whatever. But about ten minutes after leaving the Atlanta airport parking lot, he was out. Like a candle. He'll give it to Pixie, though; she does know when to keep quiet. He doesn't like excessive talking. He finds it boring. And unattractive.

He's awake but he's not yet made any noise or movement. Night has fallen over what he assumes is South Carolina. He really doesn’t know. Right now he's watching Pixie, leaning forward on her elbows over the steering wheel. Her eyes are focused forward but she's fixated on a different distance.

She has glasses on now and her vibrant red hair is falling out of its slipshod ponytail. His gaze drifts lower to short, almost bleeding black fingernails, wrists with faint slash marks, a tattoo farther up her arm that he can't discern the nature of, a bracelet with different colored beads that spells out the word Elijah. He assumes that's her husband. No, boyfriend. She doesn't have any rings.

But she's crying. Why is she crying? And it's not like it's loud, or she's sobbing. But her black eyeliner is sort of smeared and her cheeks look a little wet. He wants to reach out and take her hand, or squeeze her shoulder. However she looks like she's deep in thought, he's known her less than twenty-four hours, and they're both attached.

"How are you, Nathan?" she asks without warning. She sounds sick.

"Um…I'm good, actually. Surprisingly." He sits up. "You?" He runs his fingers through his hair. He realizes he must have slept through the end of his fix, because he feels human.

"Same"

Liar. "Do you want me to drive?" he asks. He doesn’t know if she plans on stopping for the night, but she's gotta be tired.

She puts on the turn signal. "Nah. You can drive tomorrow. I'm gonna get off here and we'll go to that Motel 8." They're in an extremely random town in South Carolina, alright. Downtown goes "McDonald's Wal-Mart Butch's Barbeque Exxon Motel 8."

Pixie read his mind. "Not a whole lot of shit here. I'm gonna estimate a population of 357." The motel looks like the nicest thing around. "But hey, they have a Wally World!"

He chuckles. "I think I can see Bumfuck High back there behind it."

She laughs with him. "Damn straight."

"But 357? That's a bit much."

"Oh yeah? Well, Mr. Census Bureau, how many people do you think are here?"

He pauses for a second. "Fifteen."

She makes an incredulous sound. "Fifteen? Are you for real?"

"Three to work at the Golden Arches, five at the Wally World, three at Butch's, one at the Exxon, because you know, it's self-pump, and three at the Motel 8. They either sleep there or they all go to the bedding section of Wal-Mart…"

Pixie is shaking her head and giggling. Nathan is happy to have been able to stop her tears. They pull into the motel. "I would take all of your stuff out of the car. Cos, I mean, I'm a paranoid, and you never know…"

"Yeah. Yeah." They unbuckle and get out. When they get to the front desk, there is an unpleasant looking crotchety old white man with greasy hair reading a small newspaper. Pixie pulls a debit card out of her jeans pocket. "Real safe…" Nathan whispers. She backhands him on the stomach and he loses his breath, but he smiles. She's a funny girl.

"Excuse me sir?" Pixie says. The old man – Harold – doesn't look up. She clears her throat. "Sir?"

He was actually dozing, eyes half shut. But he shoots awake now. "What do you want?" He fiddles with a pen. Nathan is glad it isn't a colicky pen, because he's sure the man would be clicking it incessantly.

"Can we get a room for one night? Two beds, preferably?"

Harold gives them an odd look. Will they have to give names? Probably not. She is using debit, after all, not credit. "Fine. Eighty dollars up front. No smoking, no pets, no loud music or television, no loud sex or roughhousing."

She gives him the card and he does his thing. "Room 114. Checkout is at ten AM. Enjoy your stay." Harold slides over the key. Pixie and Nathan walk away.

It's only after they close the door that Pixie bursts into laughter. Nathan is doubled over. "Shh, Pixie! Don't be too loud! They'll burn you at the stake!"

She falls into the chair in the corner. "Nathan, do you think he's ever had loud sex before?"

"Ew. Great image you've put in my head." He sits on the bed closest to the window (and the chair). "I think he hates Yankees, cos he totally looked like he wanted to cover his ears when you were talking."

"Haha. Tomorrow I'll ask if he has any cawfee. So where in Jersey am I taking you to?

He leans back against the headboard. "North Brunswick. It's right near-"

"North Brunswick?" He nods hesitantly. "Whoa I live there! I grew up there!"

"Holy shit really?" He sits up again, eyes wide. No fucking way.

"Yeah! I lived in Governor's Pointe. II. Like when were little, we walked to Regal and Sabella and shit. And I went to John Adams…and Linwood…and…and…yeah." Pixie realizes she's been rambling a bit. But Nathan truly doesn't mind because he went to John Adams. He walked to the Regal. And yes, he, Nathan Green, lived in Governor's Pointe. II.

He puts his face in his hands, then looks up at Pixie and grins. "Wow."

She grins back. "I’m tired. I'm going to go to sleep. Even though it is only midnight." She moves to the other bed and Nathan notices how unintentionally lithe she is.

"Pansy."

Pixie takes off an already untied Converse and throws it at him. He dodges it and it hits the air conditioner. She gets under the covers but doesn't turn the lights out.

"Okay with you if I write for a little while? Like with the lamp on and shit?"

"Yeah I was gonna turn on ESPN if that's all right with you."

"Not a problem."

Pixie starts listening to Peter Gammons before it randomly switches to the NHL. But then she turns to face him and with a small smirk says, "Goodnight, Nathan."

He copies her look of mock condescendence and says in turn, "Goodnight, Pixie."

Dear Birdie,
It feels like I've known Pixie my entire life. You should have heard us banter earlier. She could be my sister. Or something.

I can't sleep. It's now…1.30. I've been watching ESPN, which Pixie left on. I won't turn it off. I don't want to wake her, or disturb her. Now they're talking about the start of the NFL season. Go Jets.

We're probably gonna get to North Carolina by this time tomorrow. I'll be driving. I'm going to need some stuff. Heroin. Soon.

I want to know why Pixie was crying.

She looks really pretty right now.

Sorry Lisa. I love you, but she does.

Lemme tell you this, just about nothing would make me happier than to leave Bumfuck, South Carolina.

It's a small world after all…

"And all the Red Sox have to do to seal off a fantastic season and clinch the AL East is perform well in this final series against the New York Yankees…"