Let's Not Call It a Toll (Continued)
It was dark for 7:00, but I doubt that even if I had the light to read it carefully, it would've looked any less like Egyptian hieroglyphs. Neither of us had any concept of how much the toll was going to cost – we couldn't even ballpark it – so I gave Anders the $20 and hoped for the best. We drove up to the booth with the smallest congregation of cars flowing through it. We hoped that maybe if there weren't too many people lining up behind us, we could diffuse some of the awkwardness that was to inevitably ensue.
Approaching the little glass window, we began to feel like the billy goats from that old folktale; as if somehow we would need to fool the awaiting troll to pass on to greener pastures.
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