Tom and Terry (stage-names -- audiences love alliteration) move their SUV through the sparse desert, splitting it like a black zipper. They've been outfitted with satellite radio, 4G internet, and a DVD player, but it's all been quieted for the morning. Only crackling static and the occasional surprise eruption of old country ("road music"), from the FM radio interrupt their unhurried conversation. 283 days in, and there was still no pattern to their talks. Terry wondered when their brains would finally sync up -- make every exchange a set of shorthand sounds and unfunny inside jokes -- and wondered if that signaled a beginning or an end.