The early morning air was biting as Jim opened the door. Like the pre-dawn chill in Gains, Minnesota where he had spent his childhood, the air was ready to attack. He turned back around and went over to the unused bed in his room that doubled as a makeshift dresser. On it, he had his bag open and some clothes tossed about. He searched for and found a sweater to put on over his shirt. When the sun was higher and heat accumulated he could take it off, but right now he needed it.

The first thing he noticed about the desert morning was a sky so clear and blue that it seemed unreal. It was near white. The only blemish was the speck of silver from a jet flying in the upper atmosphere leaving a thread of exhaust miles behind.

The diner was surprisingly empty. But then Jim remembered that it was Sunday morning and church was in session. It was a relief to be able to eat without any possible stares of passing whispers from the local busybodies. He ordered from a different waitress than the one he had before. This one was different in every way imaginable. It was an old man wrapped in a greasy apron and a bad attitude. Jim figured him to be the cook himself. Maybe his entire crew quit on him and he had to handle everything. He didn't seem up for the idle chitchat so Jim simply ordered some eggs and bacon, hoping there would be a hint of flavor to them.