This Sunday, we set out for Breezewood, Pennsylvania, a quiet town nestled in verdant hills five hours west of New York City. Like much of America, franchises dominate the main thoroughfare, which is aglow with the light of competing billboards.
Two truck stops vie for visitors on either side of the broad street, but its the darker, quieter one that draws us out here.
It was there that we met J., a young man who works at Mcdonalds, trains horses, and tends to his sick mother.
J.--a lot lizard.
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