The next morning broke out into a climate of heat, humidity and brilliant sunshine.
I checked-out of the motel with a cleaner body in clean clothes. And I was ready to make a long run down the road.
I walked about eight blocks as sweat poured from my face down to my ankles.
Suddenly, two women from Venezuela (yes, as in South America) stopped their car and offered me a ride.
The women took me to the nearby, small-town city of Wilson, North Carolina. We went to the local Department of Anti-Social Pseudo-Services and wasted several hours waiting to talk to a Republican redneck.
The "worker", who acted like she had sex with a can of pepper spray in her free time, finally suggested that the women take me to a shelter in downtown Raleigh, North Carolina.
Later, I found out that the victims of the recent tornadoes in North Carolina are sharing space with the standard homeless people in that same shelter. That bitter witch of a County employee essentially asked those two women to drop me off in a bad situation deep in an urban area.
We didn't take the bait.
The women ended up saying goodbye to me by a ramp that led to yet another highway.
A big, Black man in a red pickup pulled over and conversed with me. Then he drove me to a rest area near Rocky Mount, North Carolina.
I found a long bench in a well-lit area near the main building. Then I slid the backpack off my shoulders, stretched out on the bench, put my head on the pack and fell right to sleep.
In fact, I fell asleep so fast that I didn't even have a chance to say goodnight to the moon.