Every few weeks we point the truck east to see my cousin Dana. The kids wear each other out for an afternoon and Caleb and I get the drive there to ourselves, which is most of why we go. Somewhere around Kernersville the hungry always wins, and there is a little orange building off Old Winston Road that settles the argument before it starts.
Big Burger Spot. The sign says small place, BIG burgers, and for once a sign tells the truth. I get the Carolina Burger, the one that earns respect: cheddar, house-made chili, slaw, mustard, onions, stacked past anything the bun agreed to. A toothpick does the only honest work holding it up. Hand-cut fries with the skin still on. You eat it with both hands and you use every napkin they give you. I went through six and did not apologize.
Caleb ate his looking out at the lot like a man with nowhere to be, which on a Saturday headed to family is the whole point. They had something going behind the counter they would not talk about, the look of people already onto the next thing. We will find out next trip. There is always a next trip.