J u ly / A u g u s t 2 0 1 8 7 1 ures standing in the dark. A familiar smell wafts through the air. If anyone knows where to find a chili dog, these two do. “Hi, guys. How much further for food?” They laugh, not realizing the severity of my hunger. I’ve lost the others but push on. One for the Road… The sign glows heavenly. “Mile Long Franks” is written across the silhouette of a wiener dog. Beauty. I bask in its glow as the others emerge from the beach. Fil and I order two large chili dogs and a cup brim- ming with fries doused in cheese sauce. Meaghan and Stephan cross the street for a slice at Bill’s Pizza. While I love a fine dining experience as much as anyone, this chili dog satisfies something deep in the pit of my gut that can’t be put into words. Forget farm-to-ta- ble, fresh catch of the day. This mile-long- dog is where it’s at, heartburn be damned. I want another. No longer hangry and tired, Meaghan and I con- sider one more round. The guys go along for a minute or two be- fore vetoing the idea. Apparently, one more round isn’t always necessary, a be- lief I’m still not quite convinced of. I’m still a trashy twenty-something, guys. We’re at Old Orchard Beach. Life is short. The train isn’t here for another 40 minutes. The night is young. “And the Uber is here.” The ride home is smooth enough that Meaghan and I fall asleep, leaving Fil and Stephan to regale our driver with stories of our night in OOB. Back home, sand sprinkles across the floor and I take off my shoes to crawl into bed as Ferris wheels, Skee-balls, and chili dogs dance in my head. n