The stirring started as soon as the bus passed the sign saying: Los Angeles 50 miles. Hands gripping the arms of seats as passengers rose up into the aisle, unsnapping and re-snapping the latches to luggage in the overhead racks, some cases thudding on the floor as they dragged them down. Fifty miles could have been fifty million as the landscape outside changed, city lights filling the darkness where cactus had been, growing closer together from remote collections of buildings into the first semblance of city, the rumble of wheels changing, too, from the ragged beat of dessert miles to the steady hum of well-paved throughways. Faster moving cars so remote previously, roared by us, leaving a stream of exhaust behind, horns blaring at slower moving cars that clung stubbornly to the slow lanes the hotrodders claimed as their own. Outside grew brighter as city rose like a false dawn many hours away, yet irresistible, drawing the attention of even the sleepiest of us, gazes looking for the
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