[ She disappears for a moment, off to the linen closet. There's nothing terribly useful in that hall closet, but there are blankets. She brings him back a quilt. It's a twin size one with race cars on it. She might have picked this particular one to needle him, but she doesn't make any comment as she hands it to him. ]

I wonder what made them so fucking lucky.

[ Or unlucky, she thinks but doesn't say. ]

You really are from some other time, aren't you? I mean. Other than me.

[ She knows it, but it's hard to know it. ]

I don't think a church is more important. Churches are fucking garbage. But some weird sleepy town that reads seriously culty to me, it seemed reasonable that there would be one. Maybe there's not because people leave all sorts of bullshit in churches that might clue us in to something.