“Oh, that was a big one. Some kind of beetle.”
They were guessing which bugs were splattering on the car’s windshield. They’d left the city that morning, moving from packed eight-lane expressways, to cluttered four-lane highways, and now, after stopping for lunch, drove alone, a single lane in each direction cutting a narrow swath through stony hills and pine forest.
“Will they like me?”
“Are you sure?”
They drove past a sign saying that from this point, rivers drained north. The sun set quick, dropping behind the pointed tops of the trees.