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Weekly Contest #371
With half a cup of a two-hour old latte and the windows cracked to let the frigid midnight air in, I pulled into the rest stop at Mile 81. The rundown brick walled building was about the size of a shipping container, and was tucked into an opening in the lush forest that bordered the highway. I backed into one of the six open parking spots, the formerly white lines faded into the asphalt. From the lot, I could smell the salt of the ocean just over the cliffside. If I stood really still and held my breath, I could almost hear the waves crash...
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