“Kathy,” He said as they boarded the old greyhound, “Michigan feels like a dream to me now.”  

She did not reply, but instead sat, letting her head fall against the window as she absently scanned the passing fields.  Hours later his quiet laughter woke her, “Look at that man in the suit,” he whispered with a grin, “he must be a spy.”

 She offered him a cooperative smile, and shifted in her seat.  ”Toss me a cigarette,”  she sighed, running a hand through her undone hair, “I think there’s one in my raincoat.”  

“We smoked the last one an hour ago.”

Silent, she rustled in the leather bag for her magazine.  She flipped through articles she had read twice already until the sunlight faded and the moon rose above them over the wide fields.  Her head came to rest against the window, then his shoulder when the glass became too uncomfortable to bare.

“Kathy, I’m lost” He whispered into the darkness.  (America from The Best of Simon and Garfunkel)

Well, Simon and Garfunkel