Malls 'n' Dawgs

A lone man rolls into a town called Santa Barbara, he's just spent the last month meandering down the West Coast of Oregon and Northern California. The 1984 Chev van is tired after another long day on the 101 and grounds to a halt under the shade of a mall tree.
The man steps out of the blue bonaventure and is greeted by two young mexican gardeners in a golf buggie.
He is perplexed, 'what have i done this time'.

"Sweet Van", says the smaller man.
"Thanks"
"you sell this?"
"yeh"
"how much you asking gringo?"
"a grand i guess"
"hmm" ponders the taller man.
"800!" he suddenly says.
"aww i wanted at least 950 mate"
"hmmm" they ponder in unison.

After lengthy discussions the Mexicans take his number and wish him a good day.
The man decides he needs coffee, though his money is running low he knows he can order an americano on the budget he has. He needs time to think. Some clarity would be good.
'If i sell the van, i have money and my boots. Only LA and the surrounding desert stands between me and a plane flight'.
'If i don't sell the van, yeh, i'll point it toward Mexico and go tonight'...he considers.

The van he acquired in Portland is a dirty shade of blue, no rust but plenty of age within it's mechanics. He had gotten it for a steal from an ex navy man who was tired, just generally tired. Tired in an American sense and done with it. Perhaps some of that feeling was sold with the van as it had crept in to the man's mind at various times. Perhaps.

His journey had been full of interesting folk from many orientations and as he thought back on it he felt thankful and comforted on the journey that lay ahead.
So he sits drinking the 'Americano' in a paper cup thinking faraway thoughts and wandering about the dog with three legs and just how long can one sleep in a shopping mall carpark for.