We pulled up to the hotel, which was just on the outskirts of Omaha.
“Thanks,” I told the driver. He grunted as we exited and quickly pulled away. I couldn’t rightly blame him. The car would need a good fumigation. It and us both. “Okay, so we’re here.”
“Uh huh.” He turned my way. I turned his. He seriously looked like crap. Like life had beaten him over a rock. The grin returned, yellow as the corn we’d so recently found ourselves among.
“You have a plan,” I said.
“Plans. Plural.”
“Uh huh,” I repeated. I pointed ahead. “We going to rob the place? Take some Midwestern hostages? Smile wide for the CNN cameras?”
He pointed more to the side. “Jacuzzi.” He took my hand in his. “Your plans sound like more fun, though.”
I looked at my hand in his. “Super gay.”
He shrugged. “When in Rome.
