Out of the darkness they come, each more bone-weary than the next. Like refugees drifting into a U.N. camp, they know there is only so much here to relieve their misery: tents constructed of white tarps on metal poles, food, something to drink, perhaps a change of clothes or a place to sit.
But this tiny rest stop is much better than what they have left behind for the moment. Out there is only blackness ? lit faintly by a gibbous moon and the pinpoint beams of their headlamps ? and mile after mile after mile of pavement.
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