18

18

The next morning we agree that since we’ve decided to cut ourselves off from Zeke we should probably get the hell out of Colorado before he catches on and tracks us down himself. Unfortunately, we realize that if Zeke is somehow tied up with the Marching Tides, we’ve compromised our current mode of transportation by giving him a ride from the dispensary to the diner. But unless we’re going to steal a car or backtrack to L.A. or Vegas, none of which seem like particularly good ways of staying under the radar, we’ll just have to take that risk.

Agreeing we should get out of Grand Junction sooner rather than later, we grab a couple of bagels from the motel’s continental breakfast station and hit the road. We figure as we’ve been more or less going northeast thus far we should probably switch it up a tad and instead head south toward Albuquerque, New Mexico.

Between stopping for food, gas, and pit stops, the drive takes most of the day so we pass the time discussing our ne