The truck stop sat just off the highway, glowing against the night like a familiar promise. Engines hummed outside, neon lights buzzed overhead, and the air carried the permanent blend of coffee, grease, and sugar. It was a resting place for people in motion, a pause between long stretches of road. In the corner booth sat an elderly truck driver, silver hair tucked beneath a worn cap, boots scuffed from decades of travel. He ate a slice of warm pie slowly, savoring the quiet. This stop wasn’t special—it was predictable, steady, and safe, just like the routes he’d driven for...
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