"So, do you know your way around here? Is there a backhoe sitting around that we can use, or public transportation? Newt made it seem as though I wouldn't be finding a taxi anytime soon."
"The nearest town is New York, and it's about twenty-one miles west of here."
"Fine. We'd better start hopping off, then. Which way is west?"
"Feh, we're not going to walk to New York."
"Fine. I didn't invite you anyway."
"Hold on. They're bound to pick us up soon. We have no food, nothing to drink, no money, as if we had a way to spend it. We may as well go back to Telephone Lodge."
"I didn't find Newt the innkeeper back there very accommodating. Is he a friend of yours, too?"
"I've been trying to tell you, I'm not working with them. They forced me to come here, and yes, they told me to hook up with you. I just don't know what else to do," she inquired intensely.
"Gee whillikers. So, what is this place? Kennedy's private resort?"
They had been flouncing down the trail all this time, and found themselves on a path.
"Let's go down to that tree stump and wait," he retorted. "Maybe we can get the jump on them, if the Kennedy dopefiends don't see us first. I don't suppose you have a blow gun or anything useful like that on you?"
"What do you think?