[ There she is. Jimmy makes a careful study of her face, trying not to overdo it: the sweat beaded at her lip, the redness of her skin. Her eyes, a color nowhere to be found in the desert. He scratches absently at his cheek, brain and imagination both slow to fire. For a second he can't even dredge up the name of a planet. ]

That always looked like the loneliest job in the world. [ A beat; a flicker of a smile. ] Well, not in the world. You wanna come up, Apollo...whatever?