I was getting my coffee, waiting for my fries to come up, and listening to what the woman behind the counter was saying to to the woman wearing the headset.

“Power’s out in my part of Bridgewater,” she said. “My kids called when I was on break, they can’t get the stove working.”

The tall man in the Teamsters t-shirt said, “Power’s out in the prison.”

“What?” said the woman wearing the headset.

“Power’s out in Bridgewater State Prison,” came the reply. “That’s a place you don’t want the power to go out.”

My fries came. I ate them, drank the coffee, went down to the men’s room to wash my hands. Some guy was standing in the middle of the rest room putting on his pants. He looked up at me and laughed, a little bit embarrassed. “Sorry,” he said. I resisted telling him that next time he should change in one of the stalls.

I walked out of the building. It was still raining, there was still a lot of lightning. I sat in the car, hoping it would taper off. A bunch of teenagers came out of the building, hesitated, then ran for the minivan next to my car. Suddenly all the lights in the rest area went out.

Time to get back on the road.