I hear in France every truck stop has a different menu. Here, ninty percent have the same menu, the same bufffet everywhere in the country, every single day. This is a huge country. Individuality... The interstates... Something bad's rotting us from the inside. These days, you never have to realize where you are. Truck stops, there are a few independents: Tiger Truck Stops, Little America. In the Deep South, there's still a culture of truck stops. I'm Northern. All my life I've heard about torture and lynching in the South. When I first find myself walking dirt roads in kudzu, I flinch when a branch sways, at a barking dog. After time, I forget to flinch. In the trailer at the University of Mississippi, the black day workers and me, northern white woman, sweat unloading two hundred headboards for the dormatory. But I hear things are bad. In the flat lands of North Carolina a guy tells me his father moved to California because he was scared to death that he couldn't withstand the tension. He thought he'd end up killing somebody. Mostly in the South, there are black people and white people in truck stops and they sit along side. They take their food off the same buffet and the independent buffets all have grits. We all drink Sweet Tea.