Leaving Cape May, I follow a short distance behind Joey. Every now and then I see him turn a bit, like he’s checking the rearview mirror to make sure I’m still behind him. I’m scoping out the side of the road as we drive, looking for somewhere promising, seeing nothing but family restaurants and the occasional titty bar, when I remember Whalin’s just before the Rio Grande bridge. For the next couple miles, I struggle with the decision to go have a good time or just go on home. I’m leaning towards going home, I really am, and I’m halfway across the bridge when the candy-stripped warning bar starts to descend—the drawbridge is going up. Joey gets across fine but I have to stop.