If there's anything sadder than a Stuckey's gift shop at 3AM, I don't know what it is. The brown carpet is wet from the clerk's boots, after taking his smoke break around 2:30. This section of highway doesn't see many people stopping, regardless the time of day.
I'm still six hours from home. I'd call, but she'd just be pissed that I woke her up. Maybe I'll bring home a souvenir spoon of Pennsylvania: the one with the roughed grouse on it. It's the state bird after all. Maybe, I'll just drive right past my exit and become something else altogether.
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