South of the Border

Few places on earth are as deliciously tacky and nostalgic as this place, a culturally insensitive rest stop where you can buy fireworks and trash on the I-95 North/South Carolina border.  Our parents generation saw it for what it was, and no one was ever allowed to stop here, despite 100 miles of punny billboards in either direction. Since we were banned from it as kids, my husband and I make a point of stopping here on the way to see his family, partially for the kitsch, but mostly for the cheap motor inn and warm pool. Just so happens that this weekend the light was perfect, and everyone but me wanted to go to the reptile house, so I snapped a few photos to catch it in its glory.


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