Blake stopped at a gas station to buy a hot dog and a cheese danish. Mohammed was still sleeping. They had come down from the mountains into the outskirts of Los Angeles. An opalescent dawn shone tainted by smog, blues and purples trembled at the edges of a gold-pink blur. Blake ate wearily in the parking lot, then filled up his tank. Los Angeles was just a grid of highways, built in tunnels and trenches. At 5 am, somehow, traffic congested every conduit. Blake drove with grim determination, desperate to reach the beach before rush hour. He felt a pain in his chest and carefully shallowed his breathing. Thick with exhaust and burnt rubber, the air felt sat ash on the tongue. It reminded him of Doom.

  He managed to find a parking space somehow, then got out of the car. Stairs led down an embankment to the narrow beach. Blake took off his shirt and shoes, rolled up the cuffs of his jeans, and walked down to the water. A shirtless man waxed his surfboard beside a beaten-up maroon van. Blake waded in the water, then bent low and splashed it over his face and hair. He growled. Though the water was cold, it couldn’t nearly cure his fatigue and hunger. He wanted to swim.

  Back at the car, Blake shook Mohammed awake. “Mohammed!” he whispered. “Wake up! We’re at the beach!”

  Mohammed looked at him groggily, then grabbed the armrest and lifted himself up, looking out the window. “Where are we?”

  “Malibu!”

  Mohammed groaned blearily. Blake had driven 300 miles that night. There was nowhere to change clothes, so they couldn’t go swimming. Mohammed staggered down to the water and Blake sat in the shade eating leftover lentils. He needed a sandwich or something, but there was nowhere to eat. All up and down the road, there were nothing but boxy, pastel houses. Up on the green hills, terraced palaces commanded acres to themselves.

  After a while, they got back in the car. Mohammed drove. Near the edge of Malibu, they found a single quaint cafe and pulled over. On a plaque by the sidewalk, the menu offered them $16 sandwiches, arugula and avocado, wagyu beef or whatever. Dejected, Blake got a banana and a granola bar out of the trunk and they drove off, up the coastal highway, through the desert of the real. Nothing but houses, fences, scrubgrass, and rocks. Mohammed read from Blake’s Holy Bible, which had the King James and the Reina Valera on opposing pages:

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  “Y aconteció que al cabo de los siete días vino a mí palabra de Jehová, diciendo: Hijo de hombre, yo te he puesto por atalaya a la casa de Israel; oirás, pues, tú la palabra de mi boca, y los amonestarás de mi parte. Cuando yo dijere al impío: De cierto morirás; y tú no le amonestares ni le hablares, para que el impío sea apercibido de su mal camino a fin de que viva, el impío morirá por su maldad, pero su sangre demandaré de tu mano. Pero si tú amonestares al impío, y él no se convirtiere de su impiedad y de su mal camino, él morirá por su maldad, pero tú habrás librado tu alma. Si el justo se apartare de su justicia e hiciere maldad, y pusiere yo tropiezo delante de él, él morirá, porque tú no le amonestaste; en su pecado morirá, y sus justicias que había hecho no vendrán en memoria; pero su sangre demandaré de tu mano. Pero si al justo amonestares para que no peque, y no pecare, de cierto vivirá, porque fue amonestado; y tú habrás librado tu alma.”

  Then he read it again in English: “And it came to pass at the end of seven days, that the word of the Lord came unto me, saying, Son of man, I have made thee a watchman unto the house of Israel: therefore hear the word at my mouth, and give them warning from me. When I say unto the wicked, Thou shalt surely die; and thou givest him not warning, nor speakest to warn the wicked from his wicked way, to save his life; the same wicked man shall die in his iniquity; but his blood will I require at thine hand. Yet if thou warn the wicked, and he turn not from his wickedness, nor from his wicked way, he shall die in his iniquity; but thou hast delivered thy soul. Again, When a righteous man doth turn from his righteousness, and commit iniquity, and I lay a stumbling-block before him, he shall die: because thou hast not given him warning, he shall die in his sin, and his righteousness which he hath done shall not be remembered; but his blood will I require at thine hand. Nevertheless if thou warn the righteous man, that the righteous sin not, and he doth not sin, he shall surely live, because he is warned; also thou hast delivered thy soul.”

  ‘Well,” said Mohammed, “That’s America, ain’t it?”

  “Yeah,” said Blake. “It’s America, all right.”