It’s a small gas station nestled onto a mountain road, fluorescent lights buzz overhead. Rows of dusty candy and other road trip essentials arranged in neat lines on beige metal racks. Lottery tickets and cigarettes, a cacophony of color and plastic wrapping, create a wall behind then worn red counter. Read more…
It’s a small hole-in-the-wall place, somewhere that doesn’t even make it into Google Maps results. There’s no sign lit outside, no open sign in the window, just a few neon lights and a handful of cars in the gravel lot when I pull over on the county highway. I’m in Read more…
Sunday night, I stopped in a gas station in a small town in Illinois to pick up ice. The man in front of me was rather unassuming, probably about 5’8” with tanned skin, cropped hair, jeans and a black sweatshirt. Someone I normally wouldn’t have looked at twice, except — Read more…