I was about four hours into a six-hour drive when I realized I needed to stop, not just for gas, but because I was falling asleep with the wheel.

My eyes kept drifting shut for half a second at a time.

The thing where you blink and suddenly you're 50 feet further down the road than you thought you were.

You know, I turned up the music and I rolled down the window,

but the cold air only helped for a few minutes. I needed caffeine. The highway was empty. I hadn't

seen another car in at least 20 minutes. When I saw the glow of a gas station sign up ahead,

I felt relief.

It was one of those old independent places, not a chain, the kind that looks like it hadn't been updated since the 80s.

A single building with two pumps out front and a hand-painted sign that said, last stop

for 70 miles.

I pulled in and parked to the pump.

The lot was empty except for a beat-up truck

parked around the side of the building and figured it belonged to whoever was working the night

shift. I got out, I stretched my legs, and I filled my tank. Pay to the pump, and I headed inside.

I should have just gotten back in my car and left, but...

But I needed that coffee, and I needed to use the bathroom, so...

So I walked inside.

The store was small, a few aisles of snacks and car supplies, a coffee station in the back corner with those

glass pots that had probably been sitting on the burner for hours. A cooler full of sodas

and energy drinks along the back wall. The lights were that harsh fluorescent kind that made

everything look slightly off. The attendant was behind the counter, he was maybe 50, with

fitting gray hair and a face that looked like

...