Duck Fat Fries and Black Snakes in Saxapahaw

Tension coursed through the stale air of the camry as little Evan pouted. "I can't believe how long this is taking.  Where the hell is this place? Why is the whole world out to get me?" 

Kristen said nothing. A wry smirk betrayed her  glorious purpose: lunch.  Evan's persistent squawking about his plight only seemed to feed her sinister silence.  Her iron was low.  

The road from Chapel Hill to Saxapahaw was bright and burning with hunger-fueled rage and hormonal angst and, of course, a heavy dose of hyperbole.  The two were entering that subtle nook of insanity wedged somewhere dark in between loathing and starvation.  The talking stopped.  

To make matters worse, their radiant moral anchor, Yuna, had retreated to her Northern home for the summer, leaving the two to their own broken reality.

A river appeared. The Haw, they called it. Quite unremarkable, they thought, until a bend in the country road produced a sudden vision of a lost piedmont paradise. The Saxapahaw General Store (http://www.saxgenstore.com/), a living, breathing encyclopedia of riverside charm.  Still clinging to the last vestiges of sincerity, it stood proudly against the Triangle's parasitic yuppy shadow.  A lamb amongst the wolves.  

There was a high school, a grocer, a cafe, and a tex-mex, post-apocalyptic ball room.  And then there were the sandwiches.  For Evan, A cuban with thick-cut pickles on Foccaccia:

Kristen's judgement being what it was, she stumbled across menu only to come up with a dry little pesto "thingy"

Duck Fat Fries were also on the table. At $3 for a mallard's share, they were not to be ignored.  

A large black snake startled the two near the river after lunch.  They would be back for another bite.