The highway stretched away in ruler-straight perspective toward both horizons, black and shining in the sun like a river of ink. Beside it, the bright pastel buildings of Rest Stop 25 stood among the green trees. Occasionally a car shot past, a flash of metal and a hiss of split wind; but the road was one which was used more often at night, and was nearly empty in the afternoon.
Sam was the only attendant on duty. Stop 25 needed only two human attendants, even at its busiest hours. He sat, staring out at the highway, his elbows on the lunch counter, his round face blank, but his mouth set tightly. The phone at his elbow emitted a small grunting noise.
"You still there?" the phone voice said inquiringly.
"Yeah." Sam said, still staring at the highway.
"Well...." The voice paused. "Look, it might not come your way. It usually turns west at the New Britain intersection."
"Not always." Sam said. "It went by here once before."
"It almost never stops, anyway," the voice said firmly. "It won't stop."
"Some times it does," Sam said.
"It doesn't have to."
Sam shrugged and said nothing.
"Okay, then," the voice said. "I called you about it, anyway."
"Thanks."
Sam turned away, still watching the road....