Basically, all the things I didn't like about Stephen Blockmoore's Eric Carter books. A life lived from hand to hand, from diner to diner, this IHoP to that IHoP. But Carter manages to pull off being cool despite this handicap, and, honestly, Miriam doesn't. Is this some sort of American thing I don't understand? A 2010s version of On the Road by Jack Kerouac? Black and Carter are both equally unlikeable if you look at their lifestyles, but Eric is amusing and Miriam's just tiresomely spiky. I'm not sure I followed the dream stuff, either. And it felt like this might be at the end epic, but it was just about meth, which is a peculiarly American drug. So, maybe I should classify this as something full of archetypes that I don't understand. But it's not written as though I shouldn't understand them, which makes me believe that Wendig thinks everyone understands, and thus discourages me from reading more.