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I spent much of the next four hours squinting for address numbers, waving cars around me as I crowded onto secondary road shoulders, and occasionally staring at empty fields where supposedly someone used to live. Somewhere in there I also hit a disappointing drive-through. How bad does fast food have to be to disappoint you? Bad enough to not finish it and hope you don’t get sick.
Those tasks left my mind free to obsess about whether I’d butchered quantum theory with Eleanor Dickey. Probably, since my understanding was based on half-heard snatches of a TV program in the background at Roger’s the night before. That is, when I wasn’t trying to figure out Eleanor Dickey.
Was it suspicious that she had treated me like a human being this meeting? How about that she hadn’t asked more about
