sound off, tuned into a greyhound dog race, the kind of programming that you only ever seem to see when you’re in a motel. In the morning, we ate in the motel restaurant. Axel had scrambled eggs, an omelet, pancakes, bacon, and six pieces of toast. After that I lost track. I think the waitress was getting tired just running back and forth from our table to the kitchen. “A bad fighter is predictable,” Axel said. “Hector is predictable.” Axel was watching video on his phone of Hector’s fights. It had been recorded with a hidden Go-Pro, and one of Axel’s training partners e-mailed it to him. Axel held up his phone so I could see. “He comes out too fast, too strong. He’s not careful and uses up his energy too early. Predictable.” He turned off the phone and put it away. “Predictable as a freight train.” I was unconvinced. “Just stay off the tracks.” “If you lose?” “Then I lose.” “Then what?” “I don’t know. North Dakota I guess.” He sounded indifferent about it and it felt like I’d been punched in the stomach. In North Dakota the housing was temporary at best. Axel would live in a makeshift barracks and maybe, if he made good money, a trailer later on. At first, he might have to live in his truck. He talked about putting a topper on back and throwing in a mattress. There was no place for me in that country. The best I could hope for would be visits every few months. I wanted us to be alone together, somewhere far away from the restaurant. My eyes drifted over the other customers, mostly elderly couples and families. My gaze settled on a younger couple around our age seated in a booth. The woman was holding a baby on her lap. The guy with her reached across the table and brushed her hair back from her face. She smiled shyly. Then she glanced at me and I looked away. The call came and they picked us up in a cargo van. First Dale patted David Preizler
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