The toll booth person has no idea where you came from, nor do they care where you are headed. To the toll person you exist for a few fleeting seconds. The middle aged woman in the toll booth I came upon popped her gum as she scooped the change from my hand, looking only at the coins and counting in a low, rhythmic drone. She had no idea that a few short minutes prior, I had been on the side of a deserted road alongside what appeared to be a goat farm.
I didn't mean to end up at a goat farm. No one ever means to end up at a goat farm, unless they are a goat farmer I suppose, but sometimes life leads us in unexpected directions.
And she's in the toll booth because she CHOOSES to not think about those things.
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