Nice Girls Don't Stay For Breakfast

In Texas, she pulled the rented Ford sedan off at a Rip Griffin travel centre. Faith knew in fact it was the centre.

This strip of freeway with splotchy brown grass and no tree in sight was 873 miles back to Las Vegas.

And 873 miles onwards to New Orleans.

"Why the fuck would you go this way?" She muttered beneath her breath, opening the car's trunk. Reached in her suitcase. A cell phone from the bottom.

She dialled a number. 504 area code. Checking in. Detailed account.
Afterwards, back in the suitcase.

Exhaling, she entered the restaurant for breakfast.