No rest for the wicked

The Book Of Isaiah says there is no rest for the wicked.
But I know of a rest stop for the wicked.
It’s in Ohio, along the Turnpike. Just outside of Akron.
All kinds of wickedness happens there.
Children disobey their parents. And eat dessert before dinner, if they eat their dinner at all.
And I know a writer who goes there in the summer to dangle participles and split infinitives.
After Labor Day, we dress in our finest whites and parade around the dog-walking lawn shamelessly.
Not that people walk their dogs there. They poop all over!
Truly wicked!