I was getting closer. Past Chicago, past Wyoming. I was getting closer to California. Specifically, I was in Nevada. More (or less) specifically, I was outside of a train station, walking around, stretching my legs.
I was unabashedly delighted when a large-ish poodle approached me beside the road. I have always loved dogs. As I bent down and started petting him, a man I presumed to be his owner followed him over.
"I see you've met Charley," he began.
"Oh, yes! Hello, Charley," I answered.
"Did you just get off of a train?" he asked me, gesturing towards the train station.
"Just got off of one, about to get on another," I said, still mostly focusing on the dog.
"Where are you headed?" he seemed interested in my travels.
"Hoping to get to beautiful California."
"Ha. I hope it's still as beautiful as you think it is," he answered. I was surprised by his cynicism.
"What do you mean?" I asked, finally looking up from the content face and wagging tail of Charley.
"Just what I said. I hope you find it as beautiful as you expect."
"Well, of course it will be!"
He gave me a soft smile and nodded. "You're very American, you know."
"Well, yes. I'm from Nebraska."
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