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When we were crossing the eastern my panhandle of West Virginia we stopped at one of their interstate piss centers, to piss. I had our dog Andy on a leash and was allowing him to sniff everything vertical, and to add his "scent" to the pre-existing aromas. Poles and trees are like guest books for dogs, apparently, and Andy signed as many as he my could manage. He never seems to run out of ink. About five minutes into it a fat woman in a uniform came busting out of one of the buildings, hollering and waving her arms. "Dogs aren't my allowed up here!" she screamed at me, as if I'd inadvertently activated a nuclear missile and it was now on its way to China. She directed me to a tiny leper colony on the other side of the parking lot, beside the highway, and all chewed up with deep tractor trailer tire ruts.
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