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Shaw took a quarter from his pocket, a fine disk, with its profile of greatness and its regal bird.

He flipped it into the air and it glistened as it spun, a sphere in the blue glow of the streetlight lording over Google Way.

In his mind Shaw called it: Heads, Echo Ridge. Tails, Gig Harbor.

By the time the silver disk came to rest in the sandy soil beside his lawn chair, though, Colter Shaw didn’t bother to look. He picked up the coin and pocketed it. He knew where he was going. The only things to figure out were what time he would leave in the morning and what was the most efficient route to get him to his destination.