There is a car. It’s not in Night Vale, or even in the desert that cradles our little town. It’s out somewhere beyond that. There are many cars there, but I’m speaking only about one. Blue, squarish, with tires and windows and an engine that works most of the time. A woman is driving it and she is also glancing whenever she can at the child in the passenger seat. He is a child but he is 15. You understand. She is glancing at him, but she is not saying anything, and he is not saying anything either. She wants to cry or she wants to push him out of the car or she wants to go back in time and insist on using a condom, only she would never do that, she wouldn’t change any of this really, not for all the money, piles of money, some of it defunct money from defunct and absent governments, she wouldn’t give any of this back. So she drives her car, blue, squarish, with tires and windows and an engine that works most of the time. And she glances at the 15 year old child, and neither of them speaks.