They looked out the window of the Greyhound Bus, side by side, cheek to cheek.
The heat and humidity of the Brownsville morning and the air conditioning on the bus made the windows fog.
Little Salt pulled his sleeve over his hand and used it as a kind of windshield wiper, moving it back and forth until he and Taki could see the Gulf of Mexico beyond the coastal road.
“Wow,” whistled Little Salt softly, “Do you think the whale is there?”
“Maybe,” whispered Taki. “It seems to be a place where you’d find lost and beautiful things.”
People began to stir and stretch and reach for their bags above and around them, but Little Salt and Taki stayed as still and quiet as the leaves on the trees that lined the street along the road.
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