The boy decided he was in a time warp. No computers, no AC, no FM radio, no security cameras. High tech for the motel was the neon sign outside blinking VACANCY, and the last guest had signed the motel clerk's ledger two weeks ago. The clerk's name was Ramirez, and the boy could swear he saw a fine blanket of cobwebs tying him to his chair. As Ramirez copied the information from the boy's driver's license into his ledger, he made no secret of the fact that he found the boy and the girl interesting. Avoiding the clerk's glances, the boy studied the walls of the office, which looked like they had been painted with a toothbrush. The most remarkable thing about the walls were the black-and-white pictures hanging on them. Even though he was squinting, the boy couldn't make out the details of the pictures. "What are those of? The moon?" "Looks like it, don't it?" Ramirez smiled eagerly. "That's my hobby. I like finding places that look like they don't belong here. On Earth, I mean. That's a dry lake bed; those are sand dunes; that's a piece of petrified wood, up close." "Oh." "Yeah, I'm a photographer." From under the counter, the clerk pulled out a battle-scarred 35 mm Leica. "My next series is people. The people who pass through this motel." "That can't be a lot of people." The girl was leaning against the counter next to the boy, hiding behind her sunglasses. With her eyes hidden, the girl was not just pretty but beautiful, in an affordable way. "But that's what makes it interesting." Ramirez pounded on the counter with his fist. "Who the hell stops here? That's what I want to know." "Makes two of us." The girl wandered to the window, her jackboots clicking on the tile floor. The sun was setting. Sunset, the boy thought, must be nature's way of having mercy on the landscape. It was an ashen, exhausted place, useful only for testing nuclear bombs and burying murder victims. "A lot of them look like they don't belong nowhere." Ramirez's voice