The stranger ahead of us opens the glass door to the rest stop for us, and lets us pass by him. Why? We step past the crane game and into the foyer of souvenirs, just beside by the Sbarro neon signs. White fluorescent lights are everywhere. I take note of the Starbucks Advent Calendar. I had no idea Starbucks was so religious. Would you look at that guy in that T-shirt with the picture of wolves on it? A wolf montage T-shirt. Is everyone here diabetic? And if so why are they drinking more Coca-Cola?
What’s that trumpet sound? I know those trumpets. I step forward twice to orient my head directly underneath the beige ceiling inset mono speaker. The sound is tinny, but I recognize the song immediately — Going Underground by The Jam.
When you’re at a rest stop on the turnpike, there is absolutely nothing underground about it. There’s no direct exit to the underground from the turnpike rest stop. No one at the turnpike rest stop was going underground any time soon. The turnpike rest stop is decidedly overground. And yet they play the song.
Sometimes context adds meaning. Sometimes it removes meaning.
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