we sat in old congress buildings and peered into rooms untouched by time. we gathered our jackets around us and sat outside at pat's king of steaks, another, different relic of philly history. we left the city full of its spirit, its love and its splendor.
our travels that day took us up the coast to ocean city. we sat outside a little cookie shop and devoured our wares, trying to blend in with the locals, taking pictures of the shopfront in secret, without the flash. we went onward to atlantic city, where we gambled $2 and lost $1.60, quitting while we still have forty cents to our name and honor.
we supped at rutger's university, by the "grease trucks," devouring a "fat darrell" sandwich: breaded chicken, marinara sauce, mozzarella sticks and french fries. this was not the last time we would eat a french fry sandwich in new england. must be a northern thing? either way, we weren't going to fight its divine deliciousness. we ran to eat under the umbrellas, an impending storm whipping its canvas and blowing my bangs.
this was the night of new york city, of the mania and glory of the lights and sounds of a typical saturday night in manhattan. we drove through the dark to long island, two hours past our designated arrival time.
then, cities and entire states behind us, we tiptoed into the sleeping bed and breakfast, found our room, and retired for the day, already full of memories, little stories, and flashes of glory that road trips bring. and while we already missed home, and the trees by the shed on the cusp of changing, we were an enamored band of travelers, already taken with the land behind and before us.