Stepping into the coffin hotel transported Perry back to his days on the road, his days staying at coffin hotel after coffin hotel, to his first night with Hilda, in Madison. One look at Hilda told him she felt the same. They washed each other slowly, as though they were underwater, cleaning out one-another's wounds, sluicing away the caked on mud and grime blown deep into their ears and the creases of their skin, nestled against their scalps. They lay down in bed, naked, together, spooned against one another. "You're a good man, Perry Gibbons," Hilda said, snuggling against him, hand moving in slow circles on his tummy. They slept that way and got back on the road long past dark, driving the blasted freeway slowly, moving around the broken glass and blown out tires that remained. The path of the hurricane followed the coast straight to Hollywood, a line of smashed trees and car wrecks and blown-off roofs that made the nighttime drive even more disorienting. They went straight back to the condo, but Lester wasn't there. Worry nagged at Perry. "Take me to the ride?" he said, after he'd paced the apartment a few times. Hilda looked up from the sofa, where she had collapsed the instant they came through the door, arm flung over her face. "You're shitting me," she said. "It's nearly midnight, and we've been in a hurricane." Perry squirmed. "I've got a bad feeling, OK? And I can't drive myself." He flapped his busted arm at her. Hilda looked at him, her eyes narrowed. "Look, don't be a jerk, OK? Lester's a big boy. He's probably just out with Suzanne. He'd have called you if there'd been a problem." He looked at her, bewildered by the ferocity of her response. "OK, I'll call a cab," he said, trying for a middle ground. She jumped up from the couch. "Whatever. Fine. Let me get my keys. Jesus." He had no idea how he'd angered her, but it was clear that he had, and the last thing he wanted was to get into a car with her, but he couldn't think of a way of saying that without escalating things. So they drove in white-lipped silence to the ride, Hilda tense with anger, Perry tense with worry, both of them touchy as cats, neither saying a word. But when they pulled up to the ride, they both let out a gasp. It was lit with rigged floodlights and car headlights, and it was swarming with people. As they drew closer, they saw that the market stalls were strewn across the parking lot, in smashed pieces. As they drew closer still, they saw that the ride itself was staring eyeless at them, window-glass smashed. Perry was out of the car even before it stopped rolling, Hilda shouting something after him. Lester was just on the other side of the ride-entrance, wearing a paper mask and rubber boots, wading in three-inch deep, scummy water.