We wandered our way out of New York City rush hour traffic and almost entirely through the state of New Jersey when we decided to make our first pit stop. We found a service area that consisted of a food court with Roy Rogers, Nathan's Hot Dog, TCBY, and a newspaper stand selling dusty postcards of New Jersey and some leftovers of New York City. It was obvious to us that the place hadn't been cleaned in some time. Ketchup stains lined on the walls and there were left over food particles on the tables. The staff sat to one side and chatted among themselves. Other patrons didn't seem to mind. We went about our way and grabbed a few food items and found a place to sit.
"I don't feel all that well," she said to me.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, I don't feel all that well. Kind of weak like. Really tired." She seemed a little flushed and withdrawn. I crumpled up the aluminum foil wrapper of my hamburger, took another sip of my Coke, and piled us back in the car. She wanted to sleep. Tilting back her seat, she reclined and covered herself with her coat.
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