It nears midnight and I kneel on filthy white tile with my face inside a toilet bowl. The bleak fluorescent light shows smears and stains I would rather not see. My body lurches then rids itself of the ginger ale I forced down an hour ago. I sit back on my heels, try to breathe through the next heave. But my spit is thick and the air is sour. I heave again.

Grimy metal walls with peeling red paint separate me from the other women  in this rest area bathroom. A baby is babbling while he g. . .