Getting back into the rest area at night proved to be much easier. I camped out for a while, making sure the excitement from earlier had died down. The truckers were gone and no cops ever showed up. I can only guess that the truckers had their own reasons for not wanting the authorities involved for what amounted to probably less than forty dollars of stolen clothing.

I eventually was able to shower at the rest stop, snag some leftovers from the back trash dumpster—gross I know, but the trucker’s jeans didn’t come with a magic wallet full of cash in the back pocket. Then I crossed the street to the gas station.

The clerk looks up from his smartphone for a brief second just to acknowledge my presence with a head nod and then returns to his mindless entertainment.

I head to the restrooms hoping for a pay phone but knowing that this would be a rare find these days. Sure enough, there isn’t one. I then back and head toward the wall rack that contains local pamphlets, postcards, calendars with loons on them, but most importantly, road maps. I pull one out of its slot and find where I am. I then try to recall where Rebecca had said she lives. I use the lake house as a marker point and trace my way to her. Finally, a bit of luck: she is less than three miles from where I am, not far off the highway.

I slip the map into my waistband and pull my shirt over it. I don’t want to steal from this guy, but I don’t really have a choice. Besides phoneless escaped convicts and maybe the elderly, who the fuck needs paper maps anyway?

I decide that a call to Rebecca with a heads-up of my arrival might be wise. Best case scenario, she comes and picks me up and saves me hours of walking. I go to the clerk and he says without looking up, “Can I help you?”

“Yeah. I lost my phone and really need to make a call right about now. Can I borrow yours for a second?”

“Five bucks,” the clerk responds, still staring at his screen.

“What?”

“Five bucks. You wanna use my phone; it’ll cost you five bucks.”

“But I don’t have any money on me.”

“Then no phone,” he replies quickly. He then looks up. “If you have no phone, and no money, then what are you doing in here anyway?”

“Well I’m a bit lost, and I was hoping you might have a pay phone.”

A smile begins to grow across his face, and he starts to laugh, “A pay phone!? Dude, where did you walk in from? 1997?”

I just stand there, not sure what my next move is, but when he stops laughing, he presses the home button on his phone, clicks on the “call” app, and hands it to me.