“Do you know how many post-apocalyptic novels have been written?”

“Don’t sneer.”

“I’m not sneering.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, it’s my allergies. This damn desert climate. I keep telling myself I should move back to L.A.”

“L.A. is a desert, too, you know.”

“Yes, but it’s not so … so obvious a desert.”

“Can’t see the sand for the high-rises.”

“Exactly!”

“I was being facetious, Dorothy.”

“But it’s true. You go to the outer edges of Las Vegas and there’s nothing but sand and cactus and scorpions – and secret government installations but that’s another story. Now, if you go to the outer edges of L.A. … well, there are no outer edges, see? It’s all been built-up. Zip, zoom. No desert anymore.”

“But the climate doesn’t change. It’s still a desert.”

“Of course it changes! All those cars and pollution. This is a more pure desert climate we’re living in here.”

“So … by your logic there’s no pollution in Las Vegas.”

“Of course there is! But there’s more desert on the outer edges. See?”

“I guess that makes sense.”

“It does!”

“To you.”

“Don’t sneer.”

“I’m not sneering.”

“Laugh, silly. It was a joke. How you told me a minute ago not to sneer and then – oh, well. But you did actually sneer. So, anyway, you were telling me –”

“– about ‘The Road’.”

“Boring title for a book. Unimaginative.”

“Actually, the road itself becomes sort of like a character in the story.”

“How can a road become a character? A road is a road unless you’re reading a children’s book and then you can have the Yellow Brick Road and all. I hated that movie when I was a little girl.”

“I liked it.”

“The winged monkeys?”

“What about them?”

“Never mind. It’s a stupid movie.”

“Alrighty then.”

“There you go.”

“What?”

“That tone.”

“It’s just that — Jesus, Dorothy, you always dismiss … forget it. Are you having more coffee? I am.”

“No. I can only drink one cup of this stuff.”

“It’s a Starbucks blend I got at Wal-Mart.”

“I know. That’s why I can’t drink it. Starbucks makes me think of the Pacific Northwest and the Pacific Northwest makes me think
of Chad because Chad was from Oregon, the sonofabitch, and yada yada yada. I can’t drink Starbucks. So, the book– ”

“What about it?”

“I know you liked it and all but I don’t think I can read it.”

“Why not?”

“One word: Oprah.”

“Just because she made it a recommendation doesn’t mean —”

“Hear me out because this is something I’ve been thinking about a lot.”

“Okay.”

“This book, this ‘Road’ thing, is post-apocalyptic and Oprah, who is black, is like ‘Oh, this book is so good everyone should buy
it’.”

“Uh-huh …”

“Hang on. This gets interesting.”

“I’ll bet it does.”

“Now Will Smith, you know, the black guy from Fresh Prince, okay, he made a post-apocalyptic movie, a last man on earth
thingy.”

“Yes … ?”

“Think about it.”

“Think about what?”

“Do I have to draw you a road map?”

“I think so.”

“Okay. Here’s the question –”

“Go ahead.”

“Why are black people suddenly so interested in the apocalypse and what are they trying to tell us? Interesting, huh?”