"Well, it's not the ritz, but it's the best we can do in our current location," Antonio says, opening the door to the local truck stop. It's the only place besides the motel diner to get food around here.
The place is like I pictured it when Antonio said we'd eat at a truck stop. Old leather booths and a long countertop where guys eat wearing baseball caps hunched over a plate of food. There's a bathroom to the side and at least four pots of coffee brewing behind the counter. I've never been a person to drink coffee in the afternoon, but my years of hospitality have shown me I'm the odd one out. People drink the brown sludge any time of the day.
Antonio and his briefcase pass me as he slides into the booth first. The corner of the leather box bashes me in the knee. Everyone sure is going
