"Something's not right in this town," the voice chimed in. "What do you mean?" the other asked, her tone slightly annoyed. "There's a painted peeling building on the corner. And an old hag that sells seashells." "Oh, for Pete's sake, that's not the point. What's bothering you?" "I don't like it here. I can already tell there's a cloud of doom over this place." "You're being irrational. We're here for a week, topes are doable." "I know. I just don't like it. Not even a little bit. It makes me think of salt flats." "Oh, and you hate salt flats. Your own damn fault. We should've done this road trip in the desert." "I don't love an actual desert, and you know it." "What do you mean, they've seen a dead body. Wow, so what? It doesn't mean anything." "Did you hear that?" "Hear what?" "That door open." "Oh, jeez. It is hot in here. Let's get out of this joint." "Before it gets too late. Before we all drown in the pit of a doomsday. Before-" "Bryan, we're not going to die here. Like, not even in this decade."