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March 24, 2002
Toilets runneth over in an Idaho gas station. A wooden snowman boasts a shit-eating grin and a sign offering to "work for freezer space." Patties nuke. A microwave beeps. Hot dogs spin on a Ferris wheel, soaking up dull fluorescence and drone. The customer mumbles directionlessly. The clerk's replies are curt, tinny and laconic. Some purchase fermented honey buns or snacks that don't spell "cheese" correctly so as not to be guilty of false advertising. Me, I buy a cup of watery coffee and some Dunkin Stix. Everyone boards the appointed bus at the appointed time. The bus rolls on.