The morning hue lingered in the air as condensation rested on verdant blades of grass. Looming over you stands an atheistic pleasing restaurant. A large sign is propped against the roof, reading: ‘Cracker Barrel.’ As you enter, your nostrils flare at the sent of eggs overturning on the griddle. Making your way through the gift shop section of the building, you feel pressure being applied against your arm as someone bumps into you.