Life at the Flying J truck stop has been nothing short of interesting, to say the least. I’ve come to recognize the regulars like myself - car living, van living, truck living, everyone simply trying to live. I often wonder do they break down in tears when the heaviness is too much to bear? Are they lacking support or running from something that brought them here? Do they want to be invisible like me?
Much like the regulars from the Walmart parking lot in Florida, there’s an odd sense of neighborhood that develops overtime. Everyone has a particular space, we all go about our routines, we dwell and pass the time separated by yellow lines on concrete. No one knows the other’s story but we co-exist together for a time. We will all move on someday but the memories will remain.
In honor of my time here I’m compiling a playlist of the music from the restroom. It seems fitting somehow.
