Ah, gas…

This morning I slept late. 5:12. After the first cup of coffee and the chapter titled “Clarity” in Lee Gutkind’s book of essays, I slipped into yesterday’s soft-worn jeans and pink shirt, pulled on my Chacos, put the dog’s seat belt harness on her, grabbed an essay to edit just in case, poured another cup of coffee in a 3COM thermal cup, and headed out in the six o’clock darkness down Hillsboro Road in the Outback with a quarter of a tank in it. Looking for gasoline, doggone it. Not the way I want to spend a Sunday morning. The Mapco at the bypass intersection was totally out. I went in and asked if they knew where I could get gasoline and learned that the Mapco on Moore’s Lane had some as of two hours ago and Home Depot had some yesterday and the Publix on Royal Oaks was supposed to get a truck last night. So I headed around the bypass and up Franklin Road and across Moore’s Lane and noticed that the Shell at Mallory Lane was open and had a supply with no line to speak of. After all, it was 6:18. I went to the next stoplight and waited for a green arrow to make a U-turn. I got impatient — there was no traffic and these are desperate times — so I ran the light, made my way back, and jiggled my way around until I found a pump and position on the same side as my tank. There were signs on the pumps, so I asked the man in front of me currently getting gas if there was really any in there. There was only the lower grade — 87 — which I use on any given day. I waited a moment for my turn, slid my credit card, punched the yellow grade square and pumped and watched the numbers roll. I am full and satisfied. My week now has a little clarity.

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