“I thought that being right was the only thing you liked about talking to other people,” I said. “You can’t correct people without disagreement.”

“It’s not criminal, but it’s a violation of something-or-other,” Mom said in her law-gic voice. “I wouldn’t call it il-legal. More like extra-legal.” What a relief. If the Law found us, they would probably give me a medal for being so much more legal than everyone else. 

“After they mounted a thorough search for the horse, and a respectful time had passed for grief, I bet they adopted a buffalo,” I concluded. “Hey, what’s the difference between a buffalo and a bison?”

Salt Lake City was the worst place to get sucked into at a time when friendship was against the law. It’s filled with people so friendly that they’ll ring a stranger’s doorbell just to meet whoever’s inside.

“Keep the windows closed!” I panted as the glass-and-steel canyons sucked the Wagon through a forest of billboards. “I told you, it doesn’t work that way.” Mom turned down the blowers anyway.

“Mom! Mom! There’s a hot dog shop in Albuquerque, remember?” The hot dog shop was where Jesse went to meet men with face tattoos and trade business secrets. “It has outdoor seating and everything! Can we go there for dinner?”

If you try to make everything look like the plan, then you're going to miss a lot and spend the whole adventure being frustrated.