He walked not with a swagger but rather a strut of confidence with the demeanor of one sure of a chosen direction in life, one determined to reach an appointment with destiny. It was a not too cold but chilly day. The wind drifted down in a steady gentle blow, with just the velocity needed to turn the chill frigid and quicken the step of the less hearty. Yet he walked in blue jeans and t-shirt beside his partner in a worn blue denim jacket, freshly laundry-creased blue jeans accented by highly shined cowboy boots.

With purpose they headed away from their vehicle toward the warmth of the Quik Trip's interior, I followed them. Fragments of their conversation drifted back, talk of interstate traffic, something about weight regulations. The partner said something concerning writing in a log. The confident one nodded in agreement. Pushing open the door they headed inside, toward the Men's room. Their voices faded as I walked past.

There was a wait at the cappuccino machine while a lady obviously facing a choice challenge stood reading the various labels. She had apparently made her choice as she reached forward to retrieve a cup. Alas, there were three sizes of cups. I waited while that choice was debated. Finally, she placed the medium size under the dispensing tube and pressed the button. She pressed the button for two seconds and then released it. She sipped the sample portion, poured the remainder out and stepped back to ponder her choices again. A step toward the machines was made; reconsideration reached out and pulled her back. She crossed her right foot over the left, placing her toe down in sync with her left hand going to her chin. She stood like a statue considering.

Two customers stood beside me waiting for the choice to be made. I noticed the duo come out of the restroom. The confident one's hair was now a bit wet and combed. The partner pointed toward the soft drink machines and he headed in the woman's direction. He walked up to her, paused, seemingly studied her indecision and, unlike me and the two others, waited what might have been a whole ten seconds before squeezing his body between her and the dispensers. He filled his large cup quickly with the amaretto flavored brown liquid and, without sampling, walked away.

The woman now stepped forward and also filled the cup with amaretto. Now she also walked away without sampling.

I motioned the other two to go first. My attention now focused on the two I'd followed in. They were engaged in constructing the great American hot dog complete with onions and relish and cheese. They built two each and headed for the checkout counter. As they paid their money I filled my cup with the Low Fat French Vanilla, in the ongoing quest to maintain my boyish figure. I, then, paid and followed them toward the door.

The t-shirted one moved a hot dog toward his mouth, but instead of biting he licked a dab of ketchup from his wrist. The denim clad one held the door open with his backside as the bared-armed of the duo walked through. With the same confident stride he walked toward the vehicle, head high. The dogs were placed on the running board. He climbed up into the tractor of the eighteen wheeler whereupon his grandfather handed the bounty up and climbed in behind his partner.