Your car is moving at just under 80 miles per hour south on I-95. You've never been this way before, having spent most of your life in Maine. Now you are approaching the North Carolina-South Carolina border. For miles and miles you have seen the signs. "South of the Border - 23 Miles. Pedro is getting ready to shake his maracas at you, Senor!"
Ah, after all this driving, it sure will be nice to stop. Just 23 more miles to this promised oasis. You hold onto yourself, put off the need to relieve yourself, avoid stopping at McDonalds or a fried chicken shack because of the promise of what is ahead. South of the Border! This is going to be an evening to remember.
"Pedro is looking at you! Just 10 more miles! Wake the kiddies!"
Well, there are no kiddies, there is just you. You begin to imagine wonderful restaurants and bars. Exciting amusements. Fireworks. Happy people dancing around in sombreros.
Finally, there is the exit. You'll stop for gasoline and take a look around for something to quell the boredom. As you pull into the gas station you notice a very depressed man sitting in a booth, the plastic windows covered with stains and what appears to be smeared drool. Poorly handwritten signs warn you to pay up front. You don't see Pedro anywhere.
You get your gas from a
rusted pump, not sure if you are forever
poisoning your
automobile. Then you take a drive to find a
rest room. You find one that contains a
filth encrusted urinal trough with what appears to be patches of
dirt floating in a stream of
yellow. You take care of business, looking up at the spiders and flies instead of the
Yangtze river below. Then you take a little walk.
A big souvenir store looms ahead, just in front of a little amusement park with a ferris wheel and a carousel that looks as if no maintenance has been done since 1954. Should you buy a souvenir for a place you don't particularly want to remember? You walk in, discover questionable merchandise covered with dust. There is a very musty smell in the building, so you exit and look longingly at your car.
You get in and prepare to drive, but not before noticing the presence of some respectable motel franchises on the other side of the road. Would someone stay here for a week or so? Perhaps, but you can't quite figure out why.
Time to leave. There is a lot more on the road ahead. Despite your experience, you'll be back. Something draws you back again and again.