In Chap­ter 230 of “All the Col­ors of the Dark,” the nar­ra­tive unfolds on a scorch­ing day in Union City. The pro­tag­o­nist embarks on a jour­ney at dawn, paus­ing to observe the local scenery, such as the lake and bay­ou, where sod­den wil­low branch­es hang over the water, encased in algae, and log­jams rest atop shift­ing sand­bars amidst dis­tant cypress trees. He delib­er­ate­ly takes in the sights and the essence of this envi­ron­ment.

His trav­els con­tin­ue as he rides three bus­es, remain­ing incon­spic­u­ous with his head low­ered. In this anonymi­ty, he feels relief as he pass­es by police cars, too weary to feel anx­ious or con­sid­er turn­ing back. Once on the bustling city streets, he keeps his cap pulled low, mov­ing with an air of non­cha­lance as he perus­es shop win­dows. Even­tu­al­ly, he set­tles into a cof­fee shop’s cor­ner booth, nurs­ing his drink in the shad­ow of a mon­u­ment ded­i­cat­ed to the unknown Con­fed­er­ate dead, which prompts a fleet­ing reflec­tion about his father.

With a sense of pur­pose and plan­ning, he pre­pares for his next steps. He plans to take a cir­cuitous route, opt­ing for whichev­er bus departs first. He notes that his jour­ney will com­mence at eight-thir­ty the fol­low­ing morn­ing, with a bus head­ing back to Evans­ville. There, he will wait for just over five hours before catch­ing the 1167, which will trans­port him through the night and across the state.

The chap­ter cul­mi­nates with the dawn of new pos­si­bil­i­ties as he antic­i­pates step­ping into Alaba­ma just after four in the morn­ing, as the first car­di­nals begin to sing. This moment sig­ni­fies not just a phys­i­cal jour­ney but also an emo­tion­al shift, one filled with antic­i­pa­tion and reflec­tion on his past. The chap­ter blends ele­ments of intro­spec­tion and move­ment, pre­sent­ing a vivid pic­ture of the protagonist’s cur­rent state and his impend­ing tran­si­tion.