"From the counter, she could see the Man in the Tan Jacket outside. He was running out to the desert. She could just barely see him at the edge of the parking lot’s radius of light. His arms were swinging wildly, his suitcase swinging a long. His legs were flailing. Great puffs of sand kicked up behind him. His head thrown back, sweat visible running down his neck, even from where she sat – the kind of run that was from something, and not toward."