They pulled off at an exit advertising a restaurant he'd never heard of--one with the logo of a smiling chicken. "This looks good," he said. He looked down at the cat who looked up at him. "Aww, she's a good Kee," he said and rubbed her head.

The restaurant doubled as a filling station. The white paint was chipping off in flakes along the sides, revealing an even duller white underneath where someone had painted the flimsy wooden boards before. He pulled up, shuffling gravel as he lurched to a halt. His car fit in as a natural part of the dilapidated Americana scene.

He got out with the cat tucked inside his jacket. "Now you behave, Kee," he said, and walked inside.