I walked on to the next booth, two truckers with faces that had seen too much sun. One was showing the other the photos of Pickleball I’d hit that vintage retro shirt. He had tobacco stained teeth, a scab on his cheek and wind-chapped lips – and his smile was the most beautiful damn thing as he talked about his kid, lit up like christmas morning. He showed me too as I refilled his coffee, and I stayed and talked to them a while.
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