Dream Whip #12

More than anything, dream whip #12 feels like a collection of things. Dumpy motels in the middle of nowhere and the people that haunt them. Sleepless thoughts. "...the night keeps tabs on its air. You can borrow it, but you have to give it back."

As Bill wanders the country in his car, he seems to collect these tiny, seemingly-insignificant things. Train whistles in the night. Diners with egg salad sandwiches and full pie cases. Museums full of pieces of what once was the city around it. "I wish it could always be this easy: a little light switch that sends out a rescue signal. You just flip a switch for salvation."

Bus stations. Cups of coffee. Strangers. Smiles. "...she gives me a smile that's so completely counterfeit that it casts a shadow across the last four states of smiles, at every convenience store and gas station and coffee shop I've stopped at since St. Louis. I see all those smiles in my head all at once, and they all seem cheap and bogus, like a collection of chintzy souvenirs."

Each description of a person, place, thing or moment is intricate and fully described, making you want to get out and drive, walk, camp, and meet everything and everyone you possibly can.