Driving on an unfamiliar stretch of interstate outside an unfamiliar Ohio city, a decision was made to steer off onto a dimly lit street.
It was just before midnight about a week ago. The immediate destination was the familiar yellow-and-black Waffle House sign glowing near the exit. Nothing else seemed to be open at that hour.
Pulling into the parking lot, it seemed important to park near the entrance and the light escaping from the restaurant windows. I remember looking for a perfect spot, not too close to someone else’s car that might be bumped.