When the Signal Dies, Love Is Logistics—and Every Choice Has a Cost

me anyway.

Not outside my windshield this time—inside my phone.

A stranger had filmed our SUV from three lanes over. You could barely see Barnaby through the fogged glass, just the vague shape of an old dog wrapped in wool like a burrito. You could hear my voice, though, clear as a bell in the white noise of wind:

“Kid, look at your phone. No bars. Nobody continue reading …