The woman at the counter turned and asked the shift manager, who told her they didn’t. She bought a People magazine and a small notebook from the trucker’s store and went into the restaurant. She sat at the counter and ordered a waffle with bacon and coffee. It was near dawn and she was meant to be at work in an hour, but in her heart she knew then that she’d never go back there. The waitress came with the food and set it on the table. ‘Do you know how I could get back to Vegas?’ The waitress was a short, pale, fifty-year-old woman with gray hair. ‘You stuck out here?’ ‘I am,’ Allison said. ‘I wouldn’t recommend riding with any of them truckers. I have to see them all day. I think I’d rather walk. We’re about to do a shift change. I know a couple of the boys in the kitchen who live near the city. I’ll see what they say – other than that I don’t know.’ The woman left and the girl began eating. ‘Justin, one of our cooks, lives in the city,’ the waitress said when she returned.
