Behind surrender lies a small pool. There people gather and wade in up to their knees. They scoop up handfuls of sand from the bottom, sifting for white stones. The pool is calm until it is not, until a current shrugs forth surprising the people every time. They continue sifting; they each always have something to show.
We pull over. We park and enter a flurry of activity. The big, long stretch and the essays from magazines. After some time we decide to get going again. The formula mostly looks out across the dash, a moral sheen, and heating vents. We don’t pay attention after a while. We watch lights on the dash turn on and off. We never talk at the toll booth, alternating snaps. The woman next to us gets out and opens her trunk. She removes the boxes from inside and places them on the asphalt. She climbs in and closes the lid behind her.