He clutches the tablet tightly as the image begins to move. The light fluctuates. Between sentences he can hear, faintly, the sound of Mr. Long walking.

If Long wants to see Illinois, he has only to look at Dick: that's Illinois under his fingernails, Illinois deep in the fibers of his clothes, a smudge of Illinois on his chin.

"You can find me?" he asks. He'll have to make the bed.