Clint laughs, letting the door close behind them. He walks towards the kitchen, talking as he does. "I, uh -- kind of mapped out a roadtrip up the coast, then back down through the natural wonders section of this side of the country," he says. He kicks a chair out for Oswin at his kitchen table, while he swings past it towards the fridge. There's a thick guidebook open, with the start of a planned route drawn in pencil, and an open laptop. "But I figured we should Google -- do a web search -- of tourist attractions outside of San Diego. That's where we are," he adds. "But maybe we should do the city when we get back."

He's just -- itchy. He wants to move, to get the fuck out of places where people know him and look at him with concern.

Clint pulls the fridge open, grabbing a can of beer. "You want anything? I've got water and juice, too."