Like any good preacher will tell you, there’s a long line of people waiting for salvation, and on this road many of them drive tractor-trailers. So you wait, and the waiting makes you see where you really are.

It’s night. A group of figures sits around a counter as light streams out of the building. You don’t know who they are or what they are thinking, but the scene feels familiar nonetheless.

The truck screeched to a stop about ten yards from us. A voice came from the blackness behind the wheel of the pickup: “Y’all take a picture of us!”