"Amos," she said. She wanted him to stop.
"I know," he said. "That's entertainment. But I'm telling you, Casey. You were lucky this time. You might not be as lucky next time. So don't let this become a habit. Remember: they make the rules. And the game's got nothing to do with accuracy, or the facts, or reality. It's just a circus."
She wasn't going to argue with him. She petted the dog.
"Fact is," Amos said, "everything's changing. Used to be - in the old days - the media image roughly corresponded to reality. But now it's all reversed. The media image is the reality, and by comparison day-to-day life seems to lack excitement. So now day-to-day life is false, and the media image is true. Sometimes I look around my living room, and the most real thing in the room is the television. It's bright and vivid, and the rest of my life looks drab. So I turn the damn thing off. That does it every time. Get my life back."
Casey continued to pet the dog. She saw headlights in the darkening night swing around the corner, and come up the street toward them. She walked to the curb.
"Well, I'm rambling," Amos said.
"Good night, Amos," she said.
The car came to a stop. The door flung open.
"Mom!"
Her daughter jumped into her arms, wrapping her legs around her. "Oh, Mom, I missed you!"
"Me too, honey," she said. "Me too."
Jim got out of the car, handed Casey the backpack. In the near darkness, she couldn't really see his face.
"Good night," he said to her.
"Good night, Jim," she said.
Her daughter took her hand. They started back inside. It was growing dark, and the air was cool. When she looked up, she saw the straight contrail of a passenger jet. It was so high, it was still in daylight, a thin white streak across the darkening sky.